


The Wall

by spectralPhobia



Series: Mirror, Wall, Door trilogy [2]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Warnings, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mutual Pining, Mystery, Post-Star Trek Beyond, Slow Burn, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-08-30
Packaged: 2019-03-21 08:26:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 89,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13737003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectralPhobia/pseuds/spectralPhobia
Summary: A sequel toStar Trek: Mirror (The Movie). Please read it first.Following the events of the Halka Incident, the Enterprise returns to Earth where a massive investigation awaits. They must face inevitable changes a trip to the parallel universe brought and prevent another disaster from happening: they brought back an instruction on how to create the Tantalus Field, and you can't really expect people to sit idly once learning this, right?But for Kirk, saving Spock may become a number one priority.





	1. The Evaluation

**Author's Note:**

> A story about consequences and people who love their jobs.  
> Originally, this was written in a screenplay format like ST:M. But then I decided a novel format suited the story better; yet, occasionally you can still see some movie-like pacing and scenes.  
> The Wall has all the same warnings The Mirror had.  
> This is a very plot-heavy fic, the heaviest I've written so far. I've been working on this for a year; I hope you’ll enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it!

It was a bland, bare place made of grey plastic and polished metal, resembling an interrogation room more than a psychologist’s office.

Each examinee entered a separate isolated cubicle and faced the black one-way glass: none of them could hear the other’s replies, none of them even _knew_ their crewmates were being questioned at the same time.

The only thing that was missing to complete the picture was handcuffs – that’s what James Kirk said under his breath, thinking nobody would hear him. But the evaluator heard and recorded everything – every intake of breath, every nervous scraping of nails against the desk, every fleeting glance at the exit door.

The evaluator looked at the people sat in front of them – Kirk, who may be uncomfortable, but he was not showing it, meeting the questioning head-on; McCoy, visibly anxious, looking around the room as if expecting an axe to fall down any moment; Scott, not trusting a word the evaluator said, sitting at the edge of the chair, ready to flee; and Uhura, who showed her distaste at being interrogated with every fiber of her being. She attempted to see the evaluator through the black glass, but it was impenetrable to a human eye.

The evaluator turned on a device on their neck that transformed their voice into a neutral, genderless, ageless tone, and flicked the switch to address all evaluated officers.

“Greetings. Your answers during this examination will be recorded and evaluated later. State your name for the record.”

McCoy and Scott started upon hearing the voice unexpectedly. The evaluator made a note.

“James Tiberius Kirk, Captain, USS Enterprise.”

“Doctor Leonard H. McCoy.”

“Montgomery Scott of USS Enterprise.”

“Lieutenant Nyota Uhura.”

The lie detector embedded in each of the desks confirmed the truthfulness of their statements.

“Describe your foremost concerns at the moment,” the evaluator asked, and when everyone started talking, they focused on Kirk’s words.

“Other than coming back from being thrown in another dimension?” Kirk crossed his arms. “Nothing much.”

They flicked the switch to address him privately.

“I would appreciate if you were more specific in your answers to allow the lie detector to assess them.”

“I’ll try.”

“Incorrect,” the lie detector said, and Kirk scowled at it.

“Being untruthful devalues the purpose of this examination.”

“Some things are better left unsaid,” Kirk stared at the edge of the glass, brows furrowed.

The evaluator was fine with that type of answer - the point of the questioning wasn’t learning the truth but seeing the real reactions to the questions. They switched to address everyone once more.

“Has your opinion about the world you live in changed?”

“It did change,” McCoy huffed, “to deep appreciation. The benders Enterprise gets into on daily basis is a light stroll compared to that dimension.”

“Nope,” Scott replied, “it’s the same old world I’ve lived in since I was born.”

“Yes,” Uhura’s response was. “I think we’re taking the peace we have achieved for granted - we should be aware that it can change and consider the ways we can prevent such a change.”

“The world in general? No, but perhaps about some aspects of it,” Kirk said. “Those people were still some kind of versions of ourselves, meaning that theoretically we can achieve what they did. I don’t mean the murder stuff, obviously - for example, the other me was proficient in engineering on a scale I’m currently not, some people were of higher ranks than I expected, some people were in relationships I didn’t think possible - you get the idea,” he waved his hands.

The evaluator nodded to themselves.

“If you had a chance to visit that universe again, would you?” Was the next question.

“No!” Scott and Uhura exclaimed immediately, in synch even without seeing each other.

McCoy and Kirk took longer to answer.

“Probably not...” McCoy hummed.

Stare burying through the glass, Kirk answered firmly, “Yes.”

“Why?” The evaluator asked Kirk. A part of them was genuinely curious to know the answer.

“It’s all experience we can learn something from. Something we’d never learn here otherwise.”

The next question was for both McCoy and Kirk.

“If you had a chance to relive the experience, what would you do differently?”

Eyes cast down again, Kirk answered, “I couldn’t stop the first shot at Halka. I wouldn’t waste time if I could fix this.”

McCoy was pensive, pondering whether he should mention a name.

“There was a woman...” He said slowly. “She told me about her life a little. I wish we could talk more, so I could convince her their universe is poison, so I could help her. Save her from it.”

“What was her name?”

As expected, McCoy shook his head. “I don’t want her counterpart to get unneeded attention.”

The evaluator already knew the answer, they have studied every letter of the reports, every word hidden between the lines; McCoy’s reluctance told them everything they needed.

“As you wish,” they said before switching to Kirk.

“How do you feel about your soul being the universal constant used to enable the Taahtal-os?”

Kirk frowned, barely noticable.

“I - How do I feel?... I don’t really know how to put it into words. How about… Honoured yet confused?” He glanced at the lie detector that announced its confirmation, and shrugged. “Yeah, good enough.”

“You display signs of distress that are not connected to reliving the past experience,” the evaluator said. “Please tell me what makes you apprehensive right now.”

Kirk was silent for a few seconds, which indicated his intention to be untruthful.

“My mother is on this starbase, I don’t really want to meet her in such circumstances. Our relationship needs some mending, to say the least.”

The lie detector confirmed his answer.

“Is this the only reason?”

Kirk started; he didn’t expect his half-truth to be exposed. Still, he collected himself, certain that if he said the lie confidently enough the detector would be fooled.

But mind was a lot trickier than merely saying a word you thought to be reality.

“Yes,” was the answer.

“Incorrect.”

Kirk’s sigh bore a hint of irritation. “I... can’t talk about it. Sorry. Nevertheless, you shouldn’t worry, it’s not relevant to my ability to command.”

“Correct.”

Mutely agreeing, the evaluator switched to Scott next.

“Tell me something positive you got from the experience. I will give you time to think.”

Dumbfounded by the question, Scotty scrambled for some kind of answer, tapping the edge of the table nervously.

“I guess I saw some technology that would make the brig more secure, but that’s it... Was it the right answer?”

“There are no correct or incorrect answers, Mr. Scott. We only seek the truth of your thoughts.”

“Correct,” the lie detector said at the same time.

Scotty pointed at the machine indignantly. He trusted the evaluator even less now; but it didn’t matter. Apprehension would get even better reactions.

The evaluator asked Uhura the same question next.

“Tell me something positive you got from the experience. I’ll give you ti-”

“Nothing,” she interrupted forcefully.

“I encourage you to think before making such a rushed answer.”

Uhura made a vague gesture at the glass.

“There’s nothing good about that universe - this _is_ my opinion. Except...” She obviously made an effort to come up with some kind of a positive answer. “Monty- Mr. Scott and I were already close friends, after this we grew even closer. That’s what shared trauma does, it brings people together...” Pensive, she muttered to herself, “Unless the rift is so vast it’ll take years to cross, if ever.”

Interesting.

“Are you speaking of someone in particular?”

“No, it’s purely hypothetical.”

“Incorrect.”

Uhura rolled her eyes.

“Fine,” she huffed, “yes, but my friend’s personal life has nothing to do with this evaluation,” her tone turned bitter. “And frankly, I don’t think I have the right to talk about their problems behind their back.”

“Correct.”

“Are you planning on changing anything about your behaviour considering what you saw in the alternate reality?”

“No,” Uhura said and the detector confirmed, “I am nothing like my counterpart. I don’t need to change anything because I will never become her.”

“I see,” the evaluator replied politely after a pointed pause.

They shifted towards the fifth cubicle, where a young woman was seated, bewildered, taking the room in with wide eyes. Marlena Moreau, her profile said.

With another flick of the switch, they addressed both the fifth and the sixth cubicle.

“After the events of five days prior, did Captain Kirk’s attitude towards you change?”

Moreau looked around with curiosity, trying to find the speaker. “...I’m not even sure what I’m doing here.”

“The reports state the officers interacted with your counterpart, who helped them escape. Did this shift the dynamic between you and your superior officers?”

Moreau tilted her head quizzically.

“Mr. Spock helped even more, why don’t you bring him?”

Thankfully, the device masked any hints of displeasure that were present in the evaluator’s voice. Moreau’s thinking was not in a favorable direction.

“We have our reasons for not inviting Mr. Spock, most of them concerning the fact that the lie detector would not work on him due to his physiology. Now please answer the question.”

Moreau tapped a finger against her lips.

“Hmmm… Captain Kirk became friendlier, I think? Before this we barely talked off-duty, I mean, we’re not exactly in the same league,” she laughed nervously, “and now he took time to get to know me. Dr. McCoy too. It’s... nice,” she added with a gentle smile.

Meanwhile, in the sixth cubicle, a woman was still answering the first question.

Janice Rand looked just as comfortable and confident as in her everyday life, twirling a flower she took out of her hair’s decoration between her fingers and talking animatedly.

“ _—_ basically she told me half the crew confessed they didn’t answer my survey truthfully and I have to order new replicator menu _anyway_ to include crabcake, but I heard Raymund talking to Jackson who said she lo-o-oves crabcake, and we all know Jackson’s sleeping with Pauls, so you do realize where all of this is coming from, right? So anyway _—_ ”

“Miss Rand,” the evaluator interrupted. The last time they were this exasperated was years ago. “The question was about Captain Kirk’s attitude towards you.”

“Oops,” she didn’t sound apologetic at the slightest. “Did I get carried away a little? Hey, you wanna hear something interesting about Captain Kirk? You should ask how his attitude towards Commander Spock changed,” she winked at the glass in an awful exaggerated way. “If you know what I mean. It’s the sauciest piece of gossip I’ve ever encountered, if only you could hear what the other Yeomen have to say about that, ah, the passion in their eyes, all those shared bridge shifts - some may say it’s just logical for a command team to share shifts but _we know—_ ”

“Thank you, Miss Rand,” the evaluator said. Rand was the only one of whose truth they were actually interested in, and they didn’t want to waste the lie detector on the hottest pieces of yeoman gossip. “Please return to the original topic of discussion.”

“Why? You’re a psychologist, you have to listen to whatever I say, right?”

The evaluator ignored her; the officers were discouraged from asking their own questions anyway. “The footage showed you talking to Mr. Spock before the crew of the USS Tereshkova came aboard. What did you talk about?”

Rand’s eyes lit up.

“Oh, I get it! Is it like a personality test? I’m ESFP!”

The stylus in the evaluator’s hands squeaked in protest.

“Please tell me about Mr. Spock.”

“Mr. Spock is an amazing officer, a nice man – well, Vulcan – and he makes a great acting Captain! I love working with him!”

“Correct,” the lie detector was saying relentlessly after her every sentence.

The stylus cracked in the tight grip.

“Please tell me what you talked to Mr. Spock about on the day of the Halka Incident at 20:15,” keeping annoyance from being heard was more difficult with each reply.

“Oh, loads of stuff, but nothing important – his hands were hurt and he asked me to literally be his right hand – I mean, I’m a Yeoman, that’s what I do, and I’m not even a good one, did I tell you about that one time I spilled coffee on a padd and instead of Yeoman Pauls my message was sent to literally everyone aboard? Captain Kirk almost sounded the red alert back then-”

Turning the speaker off, the evaluator sighed and relented. Either Rand was incredibly stupid or too smart for this type of evaluation. They made a note to keep a closer eye on her during the time the Enterprise would be stationed on Earth.

They returned to McCoy instead.

“Where are you going next?

“Earth, to be questioned by Starfleet Headquarters about this ordeal,” he narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “You must’ve already known it.”

“Correct. How does it make you feel to return to your planet of origin?”

“Happy, I guess,” he shrugged. “Maybe I’ll see Joanna again – my daughter,” he smiled fondly. “She’s just turned eight. I’m gonna give her a gift - I’m thinking about a puppy, she loves them cuddly beasts.”

“I see. I am... happy for you, Dr. McCoy.”

McCoy snorted. “Yeah, right. And the sun revolves around the Earth too.”

“Thank you for your time, officers,” the evaluator said, cutting five lines off, leaving only one.

Finally there was only one inquiry left, the most important. The evaluator waited a few appropriate moments to create a meaningful pause, and asked their question, keeping their voice non-committed.

“Do you wish to die?”

Kirk jerked in his chair, looking at the glass in utter shock.

“ _Excuse me?!_ ” His voice rose. “What kind of question is that?!”

“A relevant one. Starfleet cannot have a captain with suicidal tendencies.”

Kirk stared for a few seconds and spat, “I do not _have_ suicidal tendencies.”

“Your service record begs to differ.”

“Just because I’m ready to protect my crew at the cost of my own life doesn’t mean I actively _seek_ death,” Kirk was clearly angry and defensive: a good result.

The evaluator made a quiet noise of polite disbelief.

“Name three reasons why you stay alive.”

Kirk huffed and shook his head – he couldn’t believe they were making him answer this. He proceeded to count on his fingers.

“The Enterprise... Exploration of deep space... My friends. There, three.”

 _Are you happy now?_ was left unsaid.

“What are you going to do when your friends go on living their own lives where there is no space reserved for you?”

“I’m starting to suspect you’re not a very good psychologist,” the anger and defiance was more palpable now.

“This is an evaluation, not a therapy session; provocative questions are often asked to gauge a person’s reaction to them, Mr. Kirk. My goal is to judge your mental state and determine whether you’re fit for command. Now, to the initial line of questioning,” they paused briefly, turning the lie detector off. “Do you wish to die?”

***

_Five days later_

The five-year mission was suspended for an undetermined amount of time until the “Halka Incident” investigation was complete.

On the fifth day after the evaluation they arrived on Earth, and the Enterprise was docked in the bay for the repairs she needed, as usual - but this time Scotty wasn’t allowed to take part, much to his very vocal dismay. The psych eval results came in on the same day, all four of them were deemed fit to resume their positions; however, due to the continuous investigation, temporarily they were not allowed to perform their duties as Starfleet officers. Halka was declared a quarantine planet, and the Admiralty formally requested to abstain from discussing the incident with the public. The less civilians knew the better.

They have been Earth-side for forty-eight hours, have attended two separate questionings with the Admiralty, and Jim was already thinking he was going crazy with nothing else to do.

In the end, he and McCoy spent unexpected free time searching for a perfect gift for Joanna’s birthday (“At least they didn’t give us traveling restrictions,” McCoy grumbled) and ended up with a unicorn dog puppy in their hands (so what if the species’ official name was Alfa 177 canine? Everyone called them unicorn dogs).

The puppy was jumping around them now, twisting the thin leash around McCoy’s legs; he swore, trying to get out -  which was tricky with a padd in his hand he refused to let go of - and Jim kept laughing. McCoy’s shuttle to Georgia was leaving in an hour, and he kept Jim company in the meantime, while the latter waited for yet another questioning with the Admiralty: this time he would be spending some long-awaited one-on-one time with Spock.

Well, with Spock _and_ Admiral Samoilov, but that was still a huge improvement compared to all the other times he tried to talk to his First Officer and found him uncharacteristically surrounded by people, usually Science ensigns who were happy to have even a single nod of approval from their idol – but Jim knew a cover when he saw one. He could imagine Spock snapping his fingers and commanding, “Squad, form shield,” and a swarm of ensigns covering him all around instantly.

After their strange conversation of half-truths in the Medbay Jim _had_ to talk to Spock again – at the very least to discuss the connection they apparently had, the one that transcended three-dimensional space and was the reason the away team got into the wrong universe – unless, of course, Jim was completely stupid and read the veiled words incorrectly, but that definitely wasn’t the case. And what was worse, he couldn’t for the life of him figure out why Spock was avoiding him all of a sudden. Regretted sharing this much information probably? Afraid Jim would ask more questions? Was giving him the pendant just a moment of weakness?

Was he… embarrassed by the connection that appeared without his conscious thought? Was he busy searching for a way to sever it?

A sharp pang stung his chest at the thought.

Jim touched the pendant he now wore every day, concealed by his clothes.

“What do you keep touching there?” McCoy asked while scrambling out of the leash, shifting into the doctor mode immediately. “Do you have chest pains?”

Not the ones you’re thinking of, Jim’s inner voice said. He hasn’t told McCoy – or anyone – about the pendant. No one else should know about it; apart from Sulu, who, according to the reports, was the one who inserted the data chip into the console to activate the transporter.

Jim feigned scratching his chest and waved his hand at McCoy, “Everything’s fine, Bones. You still reading our evaluation results?”

McCoy was once again nose-deep in a padd for what felt like a hundredth time.

“I don’t like it, that’s all,” he replied. “Why did they make us wait five days for the results? With the questions they asked everything should’ve been clear within the first three minutes.”

Jim shrugged. “Probably wanted to make us nervous.”

“I don’t know,” McCoy frowned deeper. “I’m a doctor—“

“Are you?!” Jim widened his eyes comically. “You’ve literally never mentioned it!”

McCoy rolled his eyes. “—and I know how a psych eval goes. This was too... I don’t know. Stretched.”

Jim remembered the strange question about death he couldn’t get out of his head for the past days. On some nights, he would stare at the ceiling in the dark, unable to sleep, the images from the parallel universe blossoming in this mind, mixing with the echo of the words playing on the loop. In his dreams his bare arms were scarred by weapons of unknown emenies, Spock’s bearded face glowed from the darkness, hot fingers pressed against his temple, and his mind was split into a milliard pieces, each becoming a star in a new universe.

“I think someone in the Admiralty just used this to teach us a lesson,” Jim said. “Like Samoilov, that does seem like his signature power move.”

McCoy grumbled some insults under his breath - their irritation with Samoilov was shared.

And then something – like a sixth sense – compelled Jim to look over towards the Admiralty building, and he caught Spock walking through the entry doors, eyes buried in a padd (against all recommendations he got from M’Benga).

Now was his _chance_.

“Hey, Bones, I think I’m gonna head out early, okay?” He said hurriedly as the dog nearly ripped McCoy’s arm out of its socket.

“Yeah,” he managed to scoop it into his arms, “and I’ll try to tame this demon before we’ll get on the shuttle,” he said. The dog’s horn left a shallow scratch on his cheek.

Jim slapped him on the shoulder. “Call me when you get there, I wanna know what Jo will call the dog.”

“Knowing Jo, it’ll be something like Ninja Dragon Slayer,” McCoy smiled briefly. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”

The next moment Jim was already sprinting across the lawn, dodging occasional passersby who dared to get in his way. He caught up with Spock in the corridor.

“Spock!” He called on the run, and Spock stopped and turned around with widened eyes; the soles of Jim’s boots squeaked against the floor as he hit the brakes, nearly crashing into him.

“Captain,” Spock said cautiously, as Jim panted, taking him in for the first time in days. Spock’s hands were still tightly bandaged, and he held them with a lot less dexterity than usual.

“Hey, Spock, how is it going,” Jim blurted, catching his breath. “How are your hands?”

“They are still healing,” Spock said, turning the padd off and hiding it inside the bag.

“What does M’Benga have to say about you using a padd?”

“I do not know,” the pause was barely noticeable, “I have not seen Dr. M’Benga for three point seven days.”

Something about the way he said it made Jim grin. “So you’re hiding from him. Welcome to the club.”

“I am not hiding from anyone,” Spock crossed his arms, “I merely have work that does not leave any time to visit the hospital.”

“Sure,” Jim said, and although he did want to add ‘You are hiding from _me_ ’, he didn’t – accusations wouldn’t help. “So how many questionings did they take you to already?”

“Three.”

Jim whistled. “Wow, you’ve beaten my record. And here I thought they would be more interested in hearing about the new universe we discovered.”

“I assume they are more concerned about something that can pose an immediate threat. The alternate dimension may be potent, however, it is nearly inaccessible.”

Jim nodded in agreement. This made sense: he read Spock’s report, as well as Sulu’s and everyone else’s who was present at the moment of the activation of the Tantalus Field. They had proof that the Field _could_ be assembled here, and, of course, there always were people whose eyes were lighting up with greed as soon as they heard the words ‘ultimate weapon that can control an entire quadrant and possibly the universe.’ However, the piece of Halka mineral that was installed on the Enterprise, as well as the mechanism Jim’s counterpart set up, were destroyed by Spock, Sulu, and Rand before the crew of the Tereshkova could get a hold of it. As they have explained, it was due to their fear of the Field getting into wrong hands – after all, they didn’t know how trustworthy the crew of the Tereshkova was – and begrudgingly, the Admiralty agreed with their reasoning, although it was obvious they would _love_ to explore the possibilities of the Field. The Taahtal-os mirror was taken from the Halkans against their protests and placed in the Starfleet Archive under heavy guard, ready to be experimented on – no matter how many times Jim said it was a terrible idea.

Now Halka was the center of attention, with everyone knowing that carving its mineral the right way was the key to creating the Tantalus Field, and while nobody would ever admit it out loud, Jim was certain many people would gladly take the planet apart piece by piece if it meant getting one successfully.

Of course, they didn’t prevent the possibility of the Field reassembly _completely_ : a willing person could still find all the materials they needed; they simply postponed it. Truly destroying the probable creation of the Tantalus Field meant to destroy Halka without a trace: and that was something nobody was ready to do; at least, not right after taking the Taahtal-os by force. People would seize the chance to jump at Starfleet’s throat and call them savages who were tearing a culture apart into pieces.

Commodore Paris confessed that certain unnamed members of HQ tried to convince her to press charges against Jim. The Halka Incident was a gold mine for people who held a grudge against the crew of the Enterprise – after all it was technically _Jim_ who declared the war on them and killed Admirals Ryushevich, Knoll, and Bosco...

But if Halka was gold the Tantalus Field was dilithium.

“Come in,” Samoilov’s secretary said, allowing them through the office doors with a plate reading ‘Andrew Sven Samoilov, Admiral’.

And thus, the questioning began. They retold their stories once more – as usual, Jim skipped personal bits and names, sticking only to the facts regarding the Tantalus Field and the Empire – withholding the information completely would be against the regulations, so Jim settled on a very vague description of its capabilities. He was all ears when it came to Spock’s side of the story, although it didn’t contain any new information beyond what was mentioned in the report. He could tell Samoilov’s displeasure about not being able to force anything else out of Spock – which made Jim wonder what exactly he was hiding. He still hasn’t watched the surveillance tapes.

Samoilov sighed deeply; after two hours he’s run out of questions.

“Very well,” he powered down the padd he was typing on with an attitude of a man giving up on the entire universe. “Captain Kirk, you are dismissed. Commander Spock, I know we promised to send the details of your court-martial today, but you will receive them later: some of the accusations are being re-evaluated-”

“ _WHAT??!!_ ”

Jim whirled, staring at Spock: he didn’t meet his eyes, and that was an answer on its own.

“You are being court-martialed, what the hell?! When did that happen? Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I have been informed on the day of the Halka Incident,” Spock answered, maddeningly calm. “Knowledge would only bring you worry. Nothing could have been changed.”

Jim turned to Samoilov, prepared to act the unexpected part of the only sane person in the room.

“You CAN’T court-martial him! What are the accusations?”

Samoilov, unimpressed with Jim’s outburst, answered just as calm.

“Blatant disregard of general orders and regulations, criminal negligence, arbitrariness leading to multiple injuries among the crew _and_ deaths, violation of a Yeoman’s mind, abuse of telepathy,” he narrowed his eyes. “Mind your tone, Captain.”

“With all due respect, _sir_ , this is ridiculous! What are you accusing him of, saving the Enterprise and Halka with the smallest damage possible?”

“Death of decorated Starfleet Admirals is hardly a small damage.”

His decision to sweep Kyle and the Halkans under the rug didn’t go unnoticed.

“He did what he had to in order to save us, and may I remind you if it wasn’t for Spock we’d be stuck in the parallel universe forever?”

Samoilov’s mouth tugged into a tiny smile that promised no good.

“Ah. This brings us to another charge. You see, the records clearly show Mr. Spock’s actions were strictly according to the protocol in the beginning, but after conversing and connecting minds with the imposter they became uncharacteristically sloppy. This suggests emotional compromise; either it was there from the beginning, or it was the result of the telepathic connection.”

“As a Vulcan, I cannot be emotionally compromised,” Spock said; the first time he was defending himself here. Samoilov must’ve stricken something.

His smile widened.

“Hmmm, let’s see,” Samoilov sang, feigning searching for something in his padd. Jim barely resisted an urge to cringe. “Your first day serving together aboard the Enterprise, record log by Dr. Leonard McCoy: you resigned due to emotional compromise... and Mr. Kirk was involved as well. But you know this story, I won’t waste your time.”

“ _That_ was a completely different situation—” Jim began when Spock interrupted.

“I take full responsibility for that incident.”

Jim was fuming. He didn’t even try to stand up for himself against this complete joke of a court martial someone has obviously organized for the sole purpose of discrediting him, latching on the tiniest missteps to ruin his spotless reputation.

“Let me be your lawyer-” He said, and this time it was Samoilov who interrupted him, irritated.

“You don’t have a necessary degree-”

“A witness then!”

“You didn’t actually witness any of the events that transpired due to being stuck in the parallel universe,” Samoilov’s irritation grew.

“I’m still his damn Captain-”

“Mr. Kirk!-”

“I can give a testimony of his character-”

“YOU WILL NOT GO TO THAT COURT MARTIAL!!!” Samoilov slammed his hands against the desk.

Somewhere in the heated exchange Jim and Samoilov rose, now facing each other, leaning forward with both hands on the desk.

For a few charged seconds they looked at each other, furious, and then Samoilov visibly gathered himself and sat back in his leather chair. Jim mirrored him.

“Mr. Kirk,” Samoilov said, forcefully calm. “As... admirable as it is to see you fret over your First Officer, we cannot demand every single officer among the _four hundred_ to testify for his character. The evidence we’ll be most interested in is by Mr. Sulu, Miss Jaylah, and Dr. Chapel.”

Jim made an effort to speak calmly as well. “At least let _me_ find a lawyer.”

“Mr. Spock’s lawyer will be provided by Starfleet.”

“Is my opinion of any interest to you?” Spock said suddenly, and Jim started – in the heat of the argument he forgot Spock was there.

“I will not need a lawyer, because I do not intend to lie in court,” Spock continued. “I stand by my actions.”

Samoilov nodded, satisfied with the answer, and glanced at Jim as if to say, ‘see how you should behave’.

“Captain, Commander, you’re dismissed.”

“Gladly,” Jim muttered as they exited the office and exclaimed the moment the doors closed, “What an asshole!”

“Please refrain from speaking of your superiors in such words within their earshot.”

Jim gave him a dirty look.

“You do realize his initials literally spell ASS. Besides, I’ve got nothing to hide,” he couldn’t resist adding bitterly, “unlike some.”

Spock didn’t answer, and didn’t give him a condescending look that said he thought what he was doing was smart. Perhaps Spock was hiding his nervousness about the court martial?…

Jim bit on his lower lip. He was overreacting.

“Okay...” He continued, rubbing his eyes. “We need to discuss your strategy. We’ve bullshitted our way through so many benders it’ll be a piece of cake,” he smiled at Spock encouragingly. “Dunno about you, but I’m starving. How about lunch?”

“I must decline. I have a prior engagement in the Starfleet Research and Development Facility.”

“The same Starfleet who is courtmartialing you,” Jim grumbled. “Dinner then?”

“My engagement will occupy the remaining hours of the day.”

“How about tomorrow? When are you not _‘engaged?’_ ”

They stopped at the end of the staircase leading on the lawn.

“I will... let you know. Have a good day, Captain,” Spock said and walked in the direction of the side-wing with a clear air of a man who didn’t want to be followed.

Jim frowned; their exchanges haven’t been this cold and curt for years, even when they were arguing over missions. The main problem here was that he still had no idea about the reason for the sudden change. They were close friends, even best friends (at least, that’s what Jim thought), used to understanding each other by exchanging a single glance – and this just seemed so uncharacteristic Jim couldn’t help but be worried about it as much as about the court martial.

***

For the following few days Jim meandered aimlessly on the Academy grounds, dodging journalists and curious eyes. He sounded like a lovesick teenager sulking under the windows of his unrequited love, but he couldn’t deny doing it for the sole purpose of hoping to catch Spock again – he did, twice, and offered lunch, but Spock declined every time.

Everything was so much easier before Halka. Since the beginning of the five-year mission Jim was a little bit infatuated with Spock (honestly, who wouldn’t be a little in love with a person who saved their life?), but back then it seemed like a tiny accidental thing that would never get any development. And as the time went by and they spent more and more time together saving each other’s backs on undiscovered planets, and later discussing the events over chess games that often progressed past midnight, with laughs or shared heavy silence depending on the mission’s outcome, all of this resulted in their relationship being transformed into that promised deep meaningful friendship - and that infatuation was transforming into a crush. The crush was harder to maintain; it made his thoughts divert in inappropriate times, his eyes and touches linger more than required, and even tried to worm its way into daydreaming where it was mercilessly stomped on: after all, his Vuclan friend didn’t deserve his trust being betrayed like this. Jim was an adult who could keep his feelings in check, and the crush stayed buried under layers of his duty, never allowed to show itself. No matter which one of them was holding the other’s bloodied body desperately paging the Enterprise, which one was lost on an uninhabited planet seemingly without a chance to get back, or which one was trapped on the other side of the dreaded radiation chamber - the next day they simply returned to the old routine and the same chess set, and the crush still had no foundation in reality.

Until Halka.

Because in the mirror universe those Kirk and Spock were suddenly bonded, completely and impossibly devoted to each other on the same level as to their ultimate goal; and if the evil version of him could be together with the other Spock, why couldn’t he?...

And then there was that Sickbay conversation, the pendant, and Spock describing what their bond meant in indirect words.

And that was Jim’s biggest mistake: after that he allowed his crush roam free, fueled by possibilities. He thought that if Spock knew, if he was willingly sharing information, it meant they could have a chance; he thought all Spock needed was some time to think, and then he would come to him with a very logical proposition about entering a relationship that would be beneficial for both of them, and then there would be kissing, a lot of pet names, and holding hands.

But the days passed with no positive changes, and after that it was too late: the crush, no longer restrained, has blossomed into something beautiful and all-consuming.

All in all, it was his own damn fault.

As for the public, all they knew at the moment was that _something_ happened. And you know what happened when people were uncertain: they started to recreate the events in the light most fitting for them.

People were starving for news, and thanks to the efforts of Enid Whitethorn, who has made spewing out ludicrous rumours her duty, they got it. This, coupled with the specks of information passed on to the general public from the relatives and friends of the crew, and the Admiralty’s absolute refusal to mention anything Halka-related allowed for some truly ridiculous gossip to appear.

One useful thing Jim did in the past days was meeting with Commodore Paris – the only member of Starfleet who didn’t take him to any questionings; she just told her side of the story and complained about her own interrogations (after all, the five officers died on her territory). She was staying in San Francisco and told Jim she was there for him if he ever needed help. “I won’t ever forget how you saved Yorktown,” she said.

Jim sighed dejectedly, feeling like a leaf thrown around by wind. He was nothing without space. The rest of the crew disappeared too – for all their reassurances about sticking together they sure found things to do quickly; many of them left the continent entirely. The more time he spent kicking around the Academy the more often the evaluator’s question came to mind: what _would_ he do when his friends found their own lives that didn’t involve the Enterprise?

McCoy hasn’t called yet – must be too busy with Joanna and the dog, and Jim didn’t blame him, his time with Jo with so scarce he should spend it on his daughter, not on phone calls. He knew Uhura, Scotty, and Jaylah were planning to attend a conference presenting new Universal Translators; Sulu was with his husband and daughter, who came to Earth to support him after hearing what happened on Halka; Chapel was juggling helping in a Starfleet hospital and a regular one; and Spock – well, he must’ve been too busy with the Research and Development work. Every time Jim saw him his injured hands were full of padds.

Jim sighed again, staring at the screen of the TV in the corner of the cafe he was sitting in – a dingy place attached to the Academy grounds, always full of cadets. There was a news report about a USS Discovery and her crew who made a breakthrough of sorts that made him yearn for deep space even more.

A communicator beeped with a new message; Jim flipped it open, perking up when he saw a video message from McCoy: his face with unmistakable interior of his home kitchen in the background appeared on the screen.

“Hi, Jim!” He was saying. “I’ve tried calling for days, but there seem to be problems with the network, so I could only sent a video. At least I hope it’s the net’s fault and not you being off pulling stunts again – I’ve got enough gray hairs without it,” he stuck a finger at the camera and the recording shook. “Anyway, sending a vid seemed more reliable, I hope you get it in time. Jo says hi, she loved the puppy! Named it Darth Vader, I don’t even know where she finds this stuff - but I’m gonna find out soon, you should’ve seen the size of her movie library! The only way she’ll be able to watch all of them is if she lives for three centuries,” McCoy’s smile faded as he looked down. “...I tried to argue with Jocelyn that if I can legally spend two days with Jo in a month and I missed five months I can be with her for weeks. Jocelyn said that if I’m in deep space all the time it means I don’t care about Jo. I said I was stuck in a parallel universe. She said it’s bullshit,” McCoy shook his head. “Well, at least it got Jo interested, and she begged I stay – so it looks like I’m gonna be here longer than expected. I’ve told as much as the non-disclosure agreement allows us… Luckily, I have enough regular stories to spare. Well, talk to you later, see ya, and don’t do anything stupid!”

Jim smiled, looking at McCoy’s face frozen in warning, and tried calling back – but there really seemed to be problems with the network, all he got was automated voice claiming the subscriber was out of coverage.

Jim looked around the cafe, seeing several people poking at their communicators or padds in frustration; at least now he knew his friends simply couldn’t reach him, and didn’t abandon him like he initially thought.

Instead he opened the chain of messages he exchanged with his mother. At first she has messaged him on Starbase Twelve, as soon as she learned they have arrived – she wanted to meet up, but Jim said he didn’t have time with all the questionings and evaluations they were going through, which was both truth and an excuse: if they were going to have a family get-together he’d rather have it in an unhurried pace. So Winona told him she would take leave and visit Earth to meet up there – her shuttle was arriving today’s evening, and while her sudden insistence on fixing their relationship seemed spastic, Jim respected it. Personally, he would love to be able to talk to his mother more than two times a year, and so he decided he would put some work into the mending as well – for example, suggest a restaurant they could go to. He still didn’t know what to choose: maybe the Academy cafe, it seemed to be the only place where reporters weren’t snooping around...

He sighed again, looking at his plate.

“If you had any salad in that burger, it wilted already.”

Kirk’s head snapped up, and he saw Marlena standing next to his table, a tray with a huge pile of french fries in her hands. She assumed parade rest and snapped a salute in a teasing exaggerated fashion.

“Permission to come aboard the table, Captain?”

Jim smiled.

“Permission granted.”

Marlena flopped on the chair opposite of Jim and started shoving fries into her mouth unapologetically.

“Here, have some,” she mumbled through the full mouth and pushed the tray towards Jim, who picked one.

“Thanks.”

“I say fries is the best thing in the world,” Marlena continued, “better than any other pleasures. Wink-wink.”

Jim breathed out a laugh. “Did you just say... ‘ _wink_?’ ”

“Yeah, I have to. I can’t _actually_ wink, my eyes don’t close one at a time,” she shrugged, carefree. “Strangest thing.”

Jim chuckled, forgetting what he was worried about briefly, and Marlena grinned in reply, proving this has been her goal this entire time.

Well, if she wanted to help Jim, he could only offer support in return.

“How are you after everything?”

“I’m great. Impossible adventures, that’s exactly what I wanted when I joined Starfleet.”

“What brings you here in the Academy?”

Marlena’s face lit up with excitement.

“Oh, Captain! You know Professor T’Kari?”

“Who doesn’t?” Jim said, and it was true – T’Kari’s name was famous even before the destruction of Vulcan, when at the very young age she developed a reputation of a scientist who was never wrong: she was able to assess the conditions with such accuracy she could predict the developments of any types of events with a 0% error margin.

Some called her a clairvoyant (Jim was pretty sure that offended her), others called her the smartest Vulcan in existence (the title she logically accepted).

Her work used to be focused in all fields of sciences – chemistry, physics, genetics, you name it – but for the last five years she was tasked with assistance to the colony’s rebuilt. Becoming Ambassador Spock’s number one assistant at first, she took his place as the head of Vulcan Culture Preservation Centre after his death.

“She came to San Francisco!” Marlena was saying meanwhile. “She was invited by the R&D to analyze _you-know-what_ and was kind enough to give a couple of lectures with free attendance, you should come too, it’s immensely interesting! She even recognized me, I’ve submitted a paper on water purification to her a while ago.”

Jim bit the fry and made a face – food here tasted like replicator.

“You’re leaving the Enterprise?..”

Marlena’s eyes widened. “Of course not, it’s just a little research paper, it’s not like I can hope to join her in the mirror’s analysis – but I’m on cloud nine right now. And I want you to be happy too, Captain... Y’know, my uncle owns a restaurant, Italian, we grow our own produce. If you ever want to go somewhere where the food is amazing and no one will ever bother you – that’s the place,” she handed Jim a transparent business card.

“Anyway, the next lecture is in two hours, in auditorium 303, come by if you want to!” Marlena shoved the last handful of fries in her mouth and waved goodbye, turning on her heel.

The moment Jim touched the card it lit up with blue text : ANTONIO’S PIZZA AND GRILL.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can probably guess, the evaluation scene was written as a screenplay, and then I had to rewrite it - originally, when this was supposed to be a "real movie", it would act as a reminder for the audience what the previous movie was about.
> 
> Follow me on [tumblr](http://leifor.tumblr.com/) if you want to see art and posts about this fic.


	2. The Dinner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Spock gets a new job and surprising news about his family, Jim gets a PR agent to work on his reputation, but nothing can compare to having dinner with their parents.

Jim did return to the Academy: not for the sake of catching Professor T’Kari’s lecture, but in search for Spock. His wandering through the corridors in hope of catching a glimpse of the pointy ears was occasionally halted: once by a cadet asking if they could quote Jim in their Advanced Tactics paper, once by an instructor inquiring if the rumours about Halka were true (a question he masterfully dodged), and twice to ask Jim to sign something.

“I am a simple man who does his duty,” he said with a smile, and they probably thought it was just a humblebrag, a way to fish some compliments; but Jim he couldn’t be more sincere.

And then, in the buzz of the Academy, he heard a familiar deep voice.

He approached the auditorium, briefly noting the number engraved on it, 303 – already knowing who he was going to see inside.

Anyone who saw T’Kari for the first time probably assumed she must be a queen of some planet. Even standing at the lectern in front of a besotted audience clad in simple black Vulcan robes she was permitted to wear she looks regal. She was in her late fifties, with several wrinkles folding the skin of her refined face, and the thick knot of intertwining braids arranged on her nape was already speckled with a few silvery lines despite her being young for a Vulcan.

Spock was next to her, an assistant, having donned the black uniform Jim hasn’t seen him in for too long, looking just as remarkably beautiful as he did five years ago. But this time it wasn’t mindless aesthetic appreciation: this was his friend whom he’s come to know as an incredible man, who was so irreplaceable that even after suspension and being threatened with a court martial by the HQ he was invited to teach inquisitive minds alongside a renowned professor.

Jim smiled; of course working with T’Kari was just the thing Spock would give up seeing M’Benga for: he’s always valued intelligence above all, and the smartest Vulcan was right up his alley.

“Thank you for this addition, Mr. Spock,” T’Kari was saying, switching the slides on the holo-emitter to display a complex chart; from this far away Jim couldn’t figure out what was written there, but several people in the audience gasped. “One universally accepted aspect of quantum theory claims certain observations cannot be predicted absolutely – something that can be disputed,” T’Kari paused politely as the audience laughed. “Which brings the question: what mechanism can we use to be certain about the destination we arrive to? The answer I have is not a standard one. Accepting the amount of parallel dimensions being infinite as an axiom, we must assume infinite copies of the same person exist as well.”

Jim appreciated T’Kari not showing off and making her lecture comprehensive to all groups of people no matter how science-savvy they were. Spock switched the slide to the image maculated with text, with only three words big enough for Jim to see: mind, body, and soul.

“These three postulates are what an individual would traditionally divide their existence into and can be observed in many cultures’ beliefs, including Vulcan,” T’Kari continued. “While the physical complexion and behaviour may undergo transformations due to varying circumstances, the essence of a living being, or a _soul,_ as it is most widely known, stays the same throughout the realities, indicating that it is, in fact, _the same_ being. If we find so-called strings that connect all the versions of an individual on a molecular level, imagine the following: we can use them to _pull_ the universes together as if tugging on a metaphorical string of beads, thus moving through realities…”

As she talked, Spock suddenly turned and looked directly at Jim; it was far away, but Jim thought he saw the slight widening of Spock’s eyes. Jim gave him a little wave, which he belatedly realized made his loitering in the doorway seem even more silly.

Spock made a subtle gesture and an expression change that effectively conveyed two messages: ‘Is there an emergency?’ and ‘Most likely not; in this case, what are you doing here distracting me when I’m clearly busy with an important thing?’

“Do you need something, Mr. Kirk, or is your visit purely recreational?”

Jim’s gaze shifted left – and met T’Kari’s, who was watching him with a politely raised eyebrow. Was it a trick of light or were her eyes really laughing at him?...

The subtle hints of amusement was something he’s only seen in Spock before; he didn’t consider other Vulcans were capable of allowing this much emotion show.

“Do come in, Mr. Kirk,” T’Kari beckoned him to stand next to her at the lectern. “I believe our topic of discussion is relevant to your interests.”

The audience swooned: the concentration of awesomeness in one room has never been so high. Someone in the background squealed ‘That’s Jim Kirk!!’, a communicator flashed, taking a photo, someone clapped, but it was hard to distinguish who in the thirty rows of desks packed with people, cadets and civilians alike – Jim has never seen this many in one auditorium. Some people were sitting on each other’s laps, and by the way some gazes were devouring both of the lecturers it was obvious not all of them came for the sole purpose of learning about interdimensional transportation.

From the front row Marlena nodded at him, and wiggled her fingers in a wave.

“Parallel universes?” Jim asked.

“Indeed,” T’Kari said. “You have been to one recently, if I understand correctly?”

A low excited hum wisped across the auditorium.

Spock threw a quick glance at her and then a longer one at Jim – Jim frowned at him in reply; no matter how much T’Kari was possibly allowed to know, they couldn’t speak in front of the audience.

Jim gave her the fail-safe Captain smile, the one that made styluses jump into foreign dignitaries’ hands and signatures appear on the treaties with just the conditions Starfleet needed.

“I’m afraid it’s classified, Ma’am.”

T’Kari nodded in understanding. “Of course, Mr. Kirk. However, we are discussing the theory at the moment, I would like to hear your input.”

“The possibility of travelling to an alternate dimension scientists are currently exploring is using the space-time continuum distorting properties of a black hole,” Jim decided to stick to public knowledge, but the audience listened, enraptured, anyway. So he went on, saying nothing the textbooks wouldn’t mention – and eventually, T’Kari overtook once again, filling the remaining twenty-five minutes with her low classy voice, leaving Jim stealing glances at Spock and sometimes meeting brown eyes looking right back.

After the lecture ended, Jim lingered to help tidy up the auditorium. As T’Kari moved towards the further rows to collect the padds she gave out during the lecture, Spock approached the desk where Jim was pulling data chips out of the computer.

“Greetings, Captain,” he said lowly, standing close, probably so that T’Kari wouldn’t overhear – but Jim’s breath caught anyway. His reactions to Spock were always almost involuntary, and before everything – before _Halka –_ he managed to suppress them without an effort. But now… now it was proving to be very difficult for his uncooperating heart that seized every opportunity to remind him about the multitude of ways his First Officer could be _attractive_ …

But even with Jim’s newfound knowledge of the parallel universe, Spock was still Spock. His friend whom he couldn’t betray with his unbidden attraction.

Jim leaned back: now there was a foot of respectable distance between them. Perfect.

“Hey,” he smiled. “Great lecture.”

“Was the presentation of the material acceptable?” Spock asked flatly, but Jim knew he was sensitive about his work, especially since he could consider himself out of shape teaching-wise, not having done it for so long.

Sometimes Jim wondered if he learned to understand Spock better than Spock understood himself.

“I admit, after understanding only about half of T’Kari’s astrophysics texts seeing the material so comprehensible is a pleasant change.”

Spock nodded, “We were trying to reach the wider range of the audience.”

“I can tell you wrote some parts – I can recognize your commentary on the multiverse theory anywhere. Good stuff,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck the simple words feeling awkward all of a sudden.

“Thank you, Captain.”

“C’mon, it’s _Jim_ , Spock, we’re as of duty as we can possibly be.”

“I believe your description is best suited for a situation where one or both of us are relieved of duty permanently,” Spock said.

Jim shuffled the data chips of the desk.

“Any news about the court martial?” He asked, worried.

Spock shook his head. “The Admiralty has not contacted me since the day we were debriefed by Admiral Samoilov.”

“I bet they’re reconsidering, the charges they brought up are laughable.”

Spock met his eyes. “I agree with all the charges. My actions…” A tiniest pause showed how difficult it was to confess this. “…Did not abide by logic. A lot of my decisions constituted as guessing, and in a situation like the one on Halka such a course of action was inexcusable for an acting Captain.”

“You came out of this with minimal damage.”

“Forty-six individuals are dead.”

Jim risked touching his shoulder briefly, saying the same thing Spock told him the first time he lost officers as Captain. “Trust me, I know what you’re thinking right now. It is impossible to save literally everyone, and despite the casualties your actions have saved millions. A single person can’t be responsible for an entire planet, and you managed to have the best outcome with impossible circumstances being thrown at you. If it was up to me, you would’ve gotten a Medal of Honour.”

Jim was used to saying these words: his officers were constantly at risk, and there was always someone who blamed themselves. Someone could consider them standard: _you’re not at fault, there wasn’t anything you could do. I’m sorry, I understand_. The words were limited and trivial, but the feeling behind them was never the same. Jim knew even though Spock didn’t show it, he understood the feeling directed at him: sometimes it showed in the pose losing its rigidness, in the gaze finally lifting from the screen of the padd, in the fingers wrapped around an offered cup of tea.

This time Spock simply inclined his head, the lines on his forehead becoming less pronounced, though not disappearing completely. He didn’t show any discomfort with Jim’s hand resting on his shoulder, so Jim left it there for just a few seconds longer.

“Captain- Jim. Are you still amenable to joining me for dinner?”

Jim couldn’t resist smiled widely – it was so spontaneous and so welcomed, not only Spock was finally agreeing, but he was asking him out himself.

“Yes, of course! I’m free whenever – you know I’m not even allowed to sneeze here without reporting to HQ first. Where do you want to go?”

“Uncertain. Jim, I am grateful for your assent, however, I must warn you: I will not be alone. My father will also be attending.”

The smile slowly slid off Jim’s face. Talk about being lifted up only to be thrown into the deepest pit of hell. Sarek hated him.

Spock hurried to explain. “Recently my father has been adamant about us having to converse in person, and it seems I cannot avoid it anymore.”

He made a strange little movement, as if he wanted to cross his arms but thought against it.

Jim huffed – it seemed like he wasn’t the only one hiding from his parent.

“My father encouraged me to bring a companion if one is available, and remembering your earlier requests I have mentioned you as potential company, to which he agreed. In fact, he seemed quite willing to speak to you.”

“Did he now?” Jim hummed. “I thought he hated me.”

“My father does not hold grudges nor does he hate anyone,” Spock objected and locked his hands behind his back. “Moreover, by asking you to attend I hope you would divert some of his attention from my person, if you would be willing to take such a responsibility.”

Okay, so he was about to act as a buffer between two Vulcans. Well, if Spock needed moral support Jim was ready to do anything, even fight a Klingon squadron barehanded to give it.

“No problem, sounds like a job for me,” he toyed with the edge of the communicator. “If fact, I have an even better idea about dispersing attention. My Mom has been offering the same thing, how about we invite her too – to even the odds out? Two humans against two Vulcans, sounds like a fair fight.”

Spock nodded instantly. “Your proposition is agreeable.” Jim beamed. “What venue would you suggest?”

Under the communicator, another piece of plastic caught his fingers, as if begging to look at it. Jim pulled out the card for Antonio’s Pizza and Grill Marlena gave him and relayed her words.

Spock inspected the card from both sides, finally nodding solemnly.

“I trust Lieutenant Moreau’s judgement, she is a highly trustworthy individual.”

“You are pretty fond of her, aren’t you,” Jim smiled. Even as a relatively new addition to the Science team – transferred from USS Callister – Marlena showed much promise.

“I suppose my attitude towards her could be interpreted as fondness by an oblivious person,” Spock replied. “I merely think of her as a talented officer who can eventually become my successor.”

“In fewer words you’re _fond_ of your _protege_ ,” Jim chuckled. “Have you heard that T’Kari recognized her paper on the traceless purification chemicals?” He drummed his fingers on the desk.

“I did. In fact, I was the one who recommended her when Professor T’Kari asked if my Science department had any young ambitious specialists.”

“Really? That’s great, she was very happy. Next time I see her I’ll tell her whom she should thank.”

“There is no need. The only thing Miss Moreau should be thankful for is her skills.”

“Still,” Jim said; it wasn’t the first time Spock showed an act of kindness and dismissed it as an everyday thing. Seeing how his (so far unsuccessful) quest was to make Spock see how remarkable he was, he made a point of pointing it out every time. “So, I’ll meet you there at about nineteen hours?”

Spock nodded again – and his cheeks flushed the faintest green as he looked to the side.

Oh, right, T’Kari.

She was leaning on the desk in the front row, tactfully looking at the screen of her padd, but her eyes had a knowing glint when she looked up at them.

“If you are quite finished, I believe it is imperative that we clear the auditorium as we are not its exclusive users. You are always welcome to join more lectures, Mr. Kirk,” Jim was absolutely certain that if winking didn’t violate some kind of a basic law of Vulcanity, T’Kari would do so.

Jim smiled at her – it seemed like she wouldn’t be offended by that – and then at Spock, throwing him a quick ‘See ya,’ unable to resist tapping his shoulder lightly once again.

He headed to his Starfleet-issued temporary apartment with a spring in his step – the day took an unexpected pleasant turn – and only after thinking it through he realized what the evening really entailed. He was having dinner with _Spock, Sarek, and Winona_.

He could smell the upcoming disaster. He would rather face that Klingon squadron.

***

Spock knew T’Kari wanted to talk to him in private from the moment she asked him to help her carry the padds back to her office. Chivalry and helping capable people with easy tasks was a human characteristic she didn’t approve of, and it was no surprise when she asked, “Spock, would you like a cup of tea?”

There was a strange tendency of familiarity with T’Kari to call him by his first name without using any title. Of course, her own position would probably prevent her from addressing him as Professor or Commander, but to say Mister, at the very least—

Two steaming cups were already sitting on the desk – she wasn’t expecting him to refuse.

So Spock took a seat and inhaled the spicy scent of the Vulcan tea – genuine, as he was surprised to learn, it suddenly hit with a wave of nostalgia. Then again, T’Kari’s authority most likely allowed her to have access to literally anything she asked for.

Spock has known her for only three days since he was chosen as her assistant for the lectures she was giving, and he has already witnessed the full power of that authority.

“I wish to discuss the alternate dimension with you personally,” she said the moment the tea touched his lips.

Spock lowered the cup carefully.

“This is a sudden topic for a conversation.”

“Are you that much human to wish to engage in an act of small talk?” There was a twinkle in T’Kari’s eyes, the same she got when she saw Jim. “Would you like to discuss the weather?”

Otherwise, her face was the kind of blank Spock could only strive to achieve. If it wasn’t for the subtle hints of carefully controlled humour, he would’ve wondered if she underwent kolinahr.

“I would prefer to stay on course of our discussion. Although you know I cannot disclose classified information about the Halka Incident.”

T’Kari took a long sip from her cup. “I do not refer to the Halka Incident. I meant the universe Ambassador Spock came from.”

Spock froze. This was far more unexpected.

“I have already told Starfleet and Vulcan High Council everything I know.”

“Spock,” the tone of her voice took a controlled patronizing quality, “I understand your inclination to protect sensitive information, but it is not needed. As you know, I have taken your future counterpart’s place as the leader of the Culture Preservation Centre; I have access to everything he has worked on,” she tilted her head as though consulting an inner etiquette manual. “Perhaps I started with the wrong statement. At first allow me to offer my condolences on the Ambassador’s passing, as I have yet to do so in person.”

Spock nodded, ignoring the heaviness in his gut. “Your condolences are accepted.”

He couldn’t deny being curious about the Ambassador’s life, even though he wasn’t about to ask her. But T’Kari continued as if sensing his doubts.

“I have worked with him for a short amount of time, and I am honoured to be voted to replace him. The next time you see James Kirk, pass him my condolences as well. It is my understanding the Ambassador and James were close.”

“Affirmative,” Spock said. Jim was indeed closer to he Ambassador; Spock took his warning about interfering with their timeline to heart and contacted him only when they came across a life-threatening force they needed a consultation about. But Jim was different. He was truly the Ambassador’s friend; he often called him to talk about human nonsense and share experiences even though he knew the Ambassador couldn’t share his own.

“You and Captain Kirk were the only ones the Ambassador has left something of his personal belongings,” T’Kari said, and Spock tilted his head. The only inheritance he knew about was his own, namely the pendant; he had no idea Jim got something too. Perhaps the Ambassador has asked him to keep it a secret?...

“I have a proposition for you,” T’Kari continued meanwhile. “If I understand correctly, Starfleet did not provide you with any worthwhile work while you are stationed on Earth. As you know, I have spent the last four point nine years exploring black holes and the doorways to alternate realities they provide. I was invited in San Francisco to work with the Taahtal-os mirror and find what properties made the interdimensional transportation possible. As a person who has first-hand experience with not one but two parallel universes – which no other scientist has – your expertise will be a useful asset, if you agree to join me. This research will be done in the laboratories Starfleet has provided and will not interfere with any duties you may wish to attend to, of course. You must understand, Spock,” she said before he could voice a protest, “this is an unprecedented opportunity. The black hole is a destructive force that cannot be properly contained and therefore cannot be relied on for the means of interdimensional travel. However, the Taahtal-os can and will be controlled.”

“The Tantalus Field is hardly harmless,” Spock replied.

“And we are hardly amateurs,” T’Kari parried. “Interdimensional travel can and _should_ be explored; it is the way of the future. As a scientist you must understand we cannot let this opportunity pass.”

Spock studied T’Kari’s face for a long time. Almost every new statement was surprising, which wasn’t something to be expected from a true Vulcan. The privilege of working with Taahtal-os was everything a scientist could wish for; her reasoning about his experience was logical, and yet Spock thought it couldn’t be the only reason she wanted him.

“I appreciate your offer and I assent to it, Professor,” he replied politely.

“You may call me T’Kari.”

Unexpected statements kept coming.

“It would hardly be appropriate, Professor.”

T’Kari didn’t say anything, simply looked him in the eye, contemplating, and dived into the pocket of her robe.

“The second subject I wished to discuss with you is this,” she took a tiny holo-emitter – cutting-edge, obviously the latest technology available to the Federation – and pushed it towards Spock. “This is a gift for you.”

A slide of a finger over the sensor made a hologram of sleek metallic ship spring to life.

The Jellyfish.

“The gift is not the hologram itself, obviously,” T’Kari explained, “but the ship prototype.”

Spock’s brows knitted. “It was destroyed.”

“Before the destruction many sensors recorded its configuration, so with a certain amount of time spent I was able to salvage the parts and recreate it with ninety-nine percent accuracy. I was in charge of the construction, therefore the quality and precision of copying, as well as of some of my personal improvements, are guaranteed.”

Spock hasn’t heard about T’Kari’s engineering prowess, probably because it was overshadowed by her scientific fame, but it was believable.

“It is still a work in progress,” T’Kari continued, “but once it is finished, the prototype is yours.”

And that was the answer to why she didn’t share the technology with the fleet’s ships after developing a drive capable of warp eleven.

Spock examined the hologram; magnifying it allowed him to see the tiniest details of the ship’s inner workings. T’Kari’s black eyes watched him through the glimmering lines of the image.

Spock had a chance to witness the Jellyfish first-hand and be awed by the incredible technology; any other time he would’ve given anything to see it close once again, but now it just seemed... strange. He didn’t like having no control over the situation, and with T’Kari dominance it clearly belonged solely to her.

“I fail to understand the logic in giving me the prototype simply because it belonged to my future counterpart.”

T’Kari’s chin touched her locked fingers; she watched him with unwavering attention. “My rationale does not end with this, but I cannot reveal its entirety at the moment. You will learn later.”

So now, on top of everything, Spock had to worry about T’Kari’s mysterious words in addition to the what his father would have to say over the dinner.

It was fortunate that Jim has agreed to accompany him – he wasn’t sure Jim would do so after Spock blew him off so many times.

But he had a good reason for this: he was concerned about Jim.

In the Sickbay, in the moment of weakness, Spock has told too much. Now that he knew, Jim would inevitably figure everything out and as a good Captain would want to establish the bond – after all, telepathic communication would have helped them so many times during the missions, so many people could’ve been saved – but he couldn’t allow it.

After hearing another Kirk’s words, after touching his mind and sensing hunger that couldn’t be sated, the passion transformed into anger, the radical desire to be close heightened by separation with Spock’s counterpart – all of this fueled by the bond… He couldn’t help but wonder if this was the result of the bond itself. _T’hy’la_ was unexplored even among Vulcans, there was no way it could exist in a human’s mind without consequences – what if Jim’s mind’s exposure to it would result in insanity?...

And even if it wouldn’t, there would still be too many obstacles to overcome. Perhaps Kirk from the alternate reality was indifferent enough not to care about Spock’s inevitable pon farr, or bared thoughts, or complete faithfulness till the end of the line and beyond that was expected of him, but Spock couldn’t subject his Jim to something a human simply was _unable_ to understand and that would force him into a relationship he would want only out of duty.

Spock cared too much about him.

Besides, Jim deserved better than being subjected to Spock’s mind full of continuous battle of his two natures. He could do better than being stuck with someone who didn’t even know who they are supposed to be.

***

If it was a regular day, Jim would simply choose the sexiest outfit he owned. But right now his goal wasn’t wooing Spock with his looks (Spock was the one to go for the mind anyway), but earning Sarek’s reluctant respect, whatever that entailed. He would’ve asked McCoy like he used to do in the Academy, but no matter what the psych eval said he wasn’t suicidal enough to distract McCoy by asking for advice about Spock.

So in the end he dug out the most colourless sweater and jacket he owned, with strict lines reminding of a traditional Vulcan outfit. He doubted Sarek would like him even if he put on the dress uniform with every single medal he owned, but at least Spock would enjoy it, and Winona would say he finally grew up. Wins all around.

Jim successfully messaged his mother – it seems the network error was only temporary – Winona agreed to the dinner immediately and didn’t seem perturbed by having to share her son with two Vulcans at all.

Realizing Winona was that willing to see him no matter what the circumstances made him feel the slightest twinge of guilt. He really didn’t have a valid reason to cease talking to her – Winona wasn’t a bad mother, she provided and protected, doing everything within her power to juggle caring for her children and developing her career, she raised him to be the man he is today, which, false modesty aside, Jim considered to be a pretty good man.

Maybe it was a Kirk trait, but their family simply just wasn’t… close. Jim hasn’t heard from Sam in years, and didn’t want to initiate a family reunion – all three of them led their own lives, and it was okay.

But now, it seems that Winona has decided to change the lifestyle she abided since Jim’s childhood, and he didn’t know what to expect.

In the end, the excitement overcame the stress of seeing both Sarek and his mother; in fact, the excitement of being with Spock out of the line of duty could probably overcome loads and loads more. That Klingon squadron? Could totally attack the restaurant, and Jim would still be happy to be alongside Spock using makeshift weapons like the chairs and forks.

However, Jim’s good mood didn’t last long – as usual, the universe seemed intent on throwing a new challenge at him every living second in hopes of catching him off-guard.

Because the next moment the communicator pinged with a new message: marked as “Confidential”, and the subject line written in all caps.

_To: James Tiberius Kirk; S’chn T’gai Spock; Hikaru Kato Sulu; Leonard Horatio McCoy; Nyota Uhura; Montgomery Christopher Jorgensen Scott; Janice Lorna Rand_

_From: Starfleet Headquarters_

_Subject: READ IMMEDIATELY_

_Starfleet archive has just encountered a breach in security, resulting in the footage recorded on the bridge of the Enterprise from 19:40 to 20:40 on 2264.79 being distributed in the global internet. The footage has been taken down the moment we were informed about the breach, however, it didn’t stop copies from being made by civilians. I write this message to everyone involved in the scene recorded with a warning: DO NOT engage with reporters and DO NOT comment on the situation. If possible, DO NOT appear in public until the official statement is issued._

_The damage control is being done and the matter will be resolved shortly._

_Your reputations as Starfleet officers are our top priority._

_Regards,_

_Vice Admiral Sato_

Jim gripped the communicator, feeling cold dread squeeze his heart; he still hasn’t seen the footage, but a quick calculation, along with the names of the people playing the part, told him exactly what scene has been exposed.

Being shot, he was out for the entirety of the fight between Spock, Sulu, and the imposters, but Uhura, who stayed conscious, has told him how she was met once her mind reappeared in her body: with phasers, blood, fear, and shaking hands.

He could imagine what the public, who didn’t have any context, would think: it was _Jim_ who punched and fired and hurt, and it was _Jim_ who should pay. Whoever published the video must’ve had a personal vendetta against him... or not. Maybe they were simply looking for any way to create a Starfleet-centred scandal.

Jim looked at the message again: _do not appear in public,_ it said. He wondered if Spock would follow the advice; seeing how he wasn’t calling him about the change of plans, he wasn’t going to. Good, Jim was itching to finally see him outside of duty, and he wasn’t about to let this leak get in his way. The thought of Spock breaking recommendations just for him warmed Jim from the inside – the warmth that was trampled by uneasiness the next moment. They just couldn’t catch a breath, could they…

While locking the apartment with one hand, the other was already composing a message to McCoy, complete with an excessive amount of exclamation points.

_‘I’m leaving for SF tomorrow,’_ McCoy wrote back.

Jim pocketed the communicator, looked up – and locked eyes with his neighbor, a Commander from a different ship, frozen like a deer in headlights upon seeing him, his leg sticking out of the doorway comically. They stared at each other for several seconds, and then the man shrank back into his quarters slowly, apparently abandoning whatever plans he had.

In the lift another neighbour greeted him warmly, but still did a double take.

In the lobby the receptionist was too busy typing something on five communicators at once to notice him.

Well, even in the worst case scenario he wouldn’t be alone, Jim thought, unlocking his rental hovercar: Marlena’s apartment was just four doors away from his, and Uhura lived on the eleventh floor in the same building. They’ll have his back; one thing he could always count on was his crew and friends being there on the Enterprise. There wasn’t a reason why they wouldn’t do the same in civilian life. Jim smiled at his reflexion in the rearview mirror, reassuring, and started the ignition, briefly wondering if he should’ve taken his bike instead, just for the sake of a flashy appearance.

The trip to the restaurant was uneventful; the parking lot he arrived to had no one whose reaction to possibly seeing the video Jim could gauge, although he could imagine the subtly fearful gazes of the people whose logical minds were clashing with their instincts that told them to run from the danger.

Spock was nearly indistinguishable from the wall of the restaurant he was leaning on, dressed in all black, with only the light of the communicator in a bandaged hand illuminating the pale face. Obviously he made up some kind of logical excuse to wait for Jim outside and not to sit at the table with his father.

Jim stepped forward urgently.

“Spock, have you-”

“Yes,” he replied, meeting his eyes, not in the least bit surprised. The communicator clicked and disappeared into his pocket. “Sixty thousand views, numbers growing exponentially along with the copies distributed.”

Of course people would become obsessed with hunting down the forbidden fruit.

For a few moments they looked at each other – as though they didn’t even say goodbye a few days ago, just continuing the conversation from a minute earlier. Despite the warring thoughts (did someone hack the archive? Was it an inside job?...) Jim still took time to appreciate the beautiful picture Spock in civilian clothes made. It was like finding a gem in a sea of uniform-clad days, especially considering Spock never took leave (and if he did, he spent it on the ship. Honestly, he and Scotty should just start a workaholic club) – he usually ended up dragging him out forcefully.

“Last chance to run away,” Jim nodded at the entrance. “Shave our hair, grow moustaches, buy fake IDs from a suspicious man in a trenchcoat.”

Barely perceptible, the corners of Spock’s lips trembled.

“I believe it would be against basic etiquette. As well as a bad fashion choice.”

Jim knew Spock was going to answer that; he sought certain comfort in reassurance that everything was still the same. They were still friends.

He touched his lip with mock offence. “Are you saying you won’t like me with a moustache?”

Spock eyed him critically. “I have no frame of reference to make an assessment. However, I do consider facial hair an unnecessary accessory.”

Jim opened his mouth to point out the alternate universe Spock certainly didn’t think that – and promptly closed it, instead gesturing to invite him to come in.

He couldn’t explain why he didn’t bring it up. Perhaps to save it for later, as an icebreaker, a conversation hook he would use if it ever came to not having any other excuses to talk to Spock.

Besides, for now they had more pressing concerns, like their parents.

The table they were given wasn’t exactly in a private area, and yet it was far enough from the other tables to not be overheard. True to Marlena’s word, neither the server nor the patrons looked at them funny – but then again, Jim didn’t expect everyone start unreasonably hating him at once. People weren’t stupid.

And yet… the first thought Jim got once stepping inside was that something was _wrong_. His subconscious nagged him to look at something he couldn’t see, but sweeping the scene Jim couldn’t find any fault with the place.

That was strange: his intuition was always pretty good, but it never felt so… palpable. As if something invisible was tapping his shoulder, asking to look.

Jim shook his head and steeled his resolve, realizing that his role as the mediator would be crucial tonight. The breached Starfleet archive and nudges from subconscious could wait.

Surprisingly, they found Sarek and Winona deeply engaged; as they approached, they heard the end of their conversation.

“Likewise,” Sarek was saying. “My colleague T’Auri is an architect who participated in the reconstruction of the Vulcan Science Academy. She has worked on multiple worlds, and she is familiar with the Earth architecture.”

Winona smiled at him slightly.

“Including the old houses? I would be very grateful. I’ll give you my number-”

Out of the corner of her eye, Winona spotted them, and turned fully to beam at him in a way he hasn’t seen in a long, long time. She looked younger somehow, with smile lighting up her face, golden hair cut short, a pantsuit gleaming with tasteful embroidery – and as Jim greeted her, he felt another twinge of guilt at not knowing what brought such a change.

“Greetings, Mrs. Kirk, father,” Spock said, and she smiled at him too, cheery and curious.

The reason they didn’t talk wasn’t hate or anything. It’s just that the relationship foundation has already been forged in the early years of distance. The separation wasn’t done out of malice; now, being a grownup, Jim realized how much work she had to do to support two children, all while recovering from the trauma of witnessing the death of her husband and friends. He understood it now, but the fact stayed: theirs wasn’t an open relationship where Jim could share an inside joke or ask personal questions, like how Winona ended up in the Engineering track, how the Academy treated her, how she fell in love with George…

As a child, if asked, he dismissed serious topics with a lame joke. Later, he used to ignore them. But maybe it was time for a change. A relationship built on silence was as bad as a relationship built on lies.

Next to her, Sarek was sitting ramrod straight, as stern and unapproachable as the last time Jim saw him; in traditional Vulcan clothes that made him look especially strict and out of place. Jim had a feeling that Spock chose more Terran-looking style just to oppose him.

Despite what Spock said earlier, Sarek glared at him with obvious displeasure. Jim wondered if Spock simply made an error in assessing his father’s mood; but judging by the subtly surprised way Spock was watching Sarek, it didn’t seem to be the case. Could this be a reaction to the leak? – Sarek wasn’t a gossiper, but his Ambassadorial duties could include being aware of every major security trespassing. But at the same time for all of Sarek’s negative qualities (Jim still hasn’t forgiven him for how he treated Spock in his childhood) he was first and foremost a Vulcan, and basing his assumptions of a person’s character on a single unproven misstep was against his nature.

Jim was just about to sit across Winona, when Spock all but swooped in and snatched the chair before him.

“Uhh,” Jim said intelligently, hand awkwardly outstretched towards the now occupied chair.

Spock raised an eyebrow.

“…Nevermind,” he flopped at the seat across Sarek and hid behind the menu. It was a shame the menu was only a hologram, not a block of paper like in the ancient times; through the transparent blue screen he could feel Sarek’s eyes burning a hole in him. He chanced a glance at Spock on his right, absolutely rigid, staring forward past Winona; Winona’s eyes darted between all three of her companions; and when Jim met Sarek’s gaze briefly, he felt a distinct desire to put at least ten armed security officers between them.

“I am happy you’ve joined us tonight!” Winona said, addressing all three if them, smile wide and only a little forced. “I was looking forward to finally meet you in person, Mr. Spock. I have heard so much about you.”

“From the press, I assume?” Spock asked. Of course, he couldn’t respond likewise, the most he knew about Winona must’ve been her relation to Jim.

“No, from your publications and from Jimmy,” Jim repressed a pout at the shortened name (how old he was, five?). “I find that I don’t trust the tabloids,” her eyes hardened, “they can be biased and seek nothing but creating sensations from real tragedies.”

“A wise decision,” Sarek said, and she smiled at him lightly.

Spock inclined his head in agreement – it seemed hatred of tabloids was a shared quality among all four – they all have experienced their negative impact. Jim mentally wrote it down as another icebreaker. In the last resort, he would mention Enid Whitethorn and unite everyone in shredding her into pieces.

“Your presence here is most welcomed, Mrs. Kirk,” Spock said, stubbornly avoiding looking at Sarek – and that seemed to be the maximum eloquence he was capable of today.

Jim looked at Winona, who moved her shoulders in tiny shrug – she realized she wasn’t the primary reason for this meeting, she was just an invitee – and then at Spock, who stared at him insistently, as if waiting for Jim to take over. Where were Klingons when he most needed them?...

He looked back at Winona – who shrugged again, this time resigned – and sighed.

“So, Mom, I’ve heard Starbase Twelve is getting new shields?”

“Oh, yes,” she seized on the subject eagerly, “we are actually one of the only two bases who’ll have a chance to test the new system before it goes to mass-production…”

She set on telling the details of the new upgrade, the part she took in the installment that she had to leave due to visiting Earth, the problems they encountered, and the funny story of her colleague who got stuck in a Jefferies tube for twenty-four hours.

Spock focused solely on Winona and didn’t look at Sarek, as if that corner of the table didn’t exist at all.

The tension was cracking, although Jim didn’t see anything he should interfere with yet; he listened with one ear while staying attuned to the most miniscule changes in Spock’s mood. If he had a third ear it would’ve been focused on the low murmur of the other patrons’ voices flowing together with ambient instrumental music. Something just seemed off, but he couldn’t figure out what; everything his eyes saw was perfectly fine...

But even the most detailed description couldn’t last forever.

“...and if that wasn’t for that dog, frying pan, and a piece of gum we would’ve never gotten him out,” Winona finished, laughing shortly, and as the only other person capable of showing a reaction Jim smiled to support her.

He will meet his mother some other time, sigh now he is first and foremost a mediator. It would help if Spock told him the reason for his argument with Sarek, but for him to willingly share details of his private life was next to impossible.

“What happened to your hands, Mr. Spock?” Winona asked, pointing at the bandages still wrapped tightly around the palms. Jim got a distinct impression that Spock wanted to hide his hands under the table.

“An injury,” he replied, tone polite but stiff. Winona understood she shouldn’t push, and for some reason Sarek returned to Vulcan-glaring at Jim, which prompted him to busy himself with the menu again. Right – they didn’t even order any main courses yet.

Jim chose pizza capricciosa, sent the order to be processed in the kitchen, and scanned the visible part of the hall.

Maybe it was paranoia after the Admiralty’s message talking, but he could feel something brewing, despite the fact no one paid them much attention. His stomach churned against his will.

This was bad.

Perhaps it was a bad idea to have a public outing, after all. Spock and Jim, if being together, could handle anything, but Sarek and Winona were existing in another plane of reality, the one that didn’t have constant threats looming over their heads. If there was even a chance of accidentally subjecting his Mom to danger Jim had to nip it in the bud.

Tense, Jim drummed his fingers on the table. Something was _wrong_ , he knew it, he just couldn’t put his finger on it… No one was looking at them, but his every cell sensed probing eyes directing their projectors at him. The background music drowned out all the noise around him, leaving only the uneasy heaviness that made him squirm...

“-im? _Jim_!”

Kirk started and whipped his head around to see Winona. He completely missed whatever she said.

Spock looked at him quizzically.

Jim pretended to study the menu again and used it as a cover to lean closer to Spock and mutter, “Do you get a feeling like we’re being watched?”

Spock mirrored him, leaning sideways, and added a vegetarian pasta to Jim’s list.

“Getting random feelings is a predominantly human characteristic,” he said in reply, but Jim could see concern in his eyes. He took his time straightening back in his seat, simply to savour the moment of having ten mere centimeters between his and Spock’s lips.

Jim had a feeling if Sarek have been holding a fork it would’ve already been bent in half.

Winona twisted her hands and cleared her throat in attempt to dissolve the tension.

“Sorry, Mom, I didn’t hear you,” Jim said, returning to her question.

“Jimmy, why Italian?” She repeated patiently. “I didn’t know you liked it.”

“Well, a friend recommended it. Besides, Spock likes it,” he threw a brief smile Spock’s way even as his eyes flicked sideways again. “It has good vegetarian options.”

Spock held his gaze for a few wonderful moments and returned to scanning the patrons, a line of concentration forming between his eyebrows.

“What about you, Ambassador,” she addressed Sarek – what a brave woman, she was the only one who was trying to somehow glue all four of them together, “do you enjoy Italian cuisine?”

“I have no preference towards any type of Earth cuisine,” Sarek said, eyes finally leaving Jim and turning to Winona. “However, coincidentally it happens to be one of the few meals I have tried. My wife made me attend these establishments while being on Earth.”

“Oh?” Winona turned to him fully, grateful someone was actually making a conversation with her. “Where’s your wife now, on New Vulcan?”

Spock’s finger slammed a button turning the menu off.

Jim couldn’t help it; he touched Spock’s elbow lightly in mute support. Winona didn’t intend to be tactless; of course no one made Amanda’s death a public announcement.

“No,” Sarek said calmly, and his next words was a shock to everyone. “My wife is currently on Earth.”

“I fail to understand your meaning.”

There was a barely noticeable hysterical tilt in Spock’s voice that Jim heard only a handful of times, like when Jim’s shuttle went down being torn apart in the atmosphere, or when Spock was rescuing the science away team about to be dissolved in a belly of a giant water snake, or — well, when he was dying.

Jim touched his elbow again, staring at Sarek with wide eyes.

“As I am aware, you have not only met her, but have been working with her. She insisted I would be the one to inform you about our new arrangement,” Sarek said, folding his arms. “As you have deduced, I mean T’Kari.”

Spock stared.

“T’Kari?” Winona asked, her mouth falling open. “You are _the_ Professor T’Kari’s husband?”

Jim was this close to joining her. But after the initial amazement passed he realized that seeing it as a chance to be close to an iconic scientist was currently the last thing on Spock’s mind.

He frowned, watching hardened lines of Spock’s face carefully.

“You have failed to inform me about this development,” Spock’s voice would sound unaffected to anyone else, but Jim could distinguish its inflictions, its underlying sharpness and notes of hysteria. Without a doubt, Sarek could see all this as well. “How long have you been close to Professor T’Kari?”

“We have met one point two months ago and bonded seven point five days ago.”

“Stating the obvious fact is illogical,” if possible, Spock’s voice grew even more steel-like, “however I must point out that is a very short amount of time to access one’s characteristics as a possible bondmate.”

Winona was looking between them as if watching a tennis match where the ball was replaced with a grenade.

“T’Kari was the one to graciously offer me a chance to bond with her when she learnt I would have to do so soon,” a meaningful pause. “Just like you will have to return to the colony and find a bondmate eventually.”

Enraptured with the rare facts falling like precious gems, Jim stared, catching every word, despite being furious at Sarek’s apparent desire to force Spock to leave Starfleet for some convoluted reason.

Spock glanced at Jim briefly and lowered his voice.

“You should not discuss this in the presence of others.”

Sarek looked back at him across the table heavily. “After you ignored my attempts to contact you privately I assumed the presence of your,” he paused, looking at Jim, then at Winona, “ _acquaintances_ would force you to talk to me. I assumed my reasoning to agreeing to this meeting was obvious.”

His gaze slid to Jim, and he got a distinct desire to shrink and merge with the table; the glance Winona got was a lot less strict: after all, she was just an innocent bystander. Winona met Jim’s eyes – she had no idea how to proceed now. Jim realized his mediator time has come: he had to stop this nonsense; and the invisible eyes of them solidified his plan.

When Spock didn’t reply, Sarek began again, “T’Pring’s mother has agreed—“

“I am not interested in T’Pring, father,” the reply was firm. “And judging by the last time we spoke to each other, she is not interested in me either.”

“Your personal opinion about T’Pring has no value—“ Sarek began, and Jim did want to sound reasonable, to play a clever word game and outlogic Sarek by throwing his own principles right in his face – but now the situation called for something more radical.

So he allowed his frustration with the entire day pour into a snappy reply.

“With all due respect, leave him the fuck alone, Ambassador.”

Sarek’s eyes widened which meant he was absolutely _appalled_ with the crude word, and Winona gasped and dropped a piece of bread.

“James Tiberius!” She exclaimed. “You _can’t_ talk like this!”

“I sure can if my best friend’s father is forcing him to do something he clearly has no interest in,” Jim spat, staring Sarek down.

To his credit, Sarek gathered himself instantly. “You do not know what you are speaking of.”

“Yes, Jimmy,” Winona said, tone hushed as she leaned over the table awkwardly and touched his arm. “Let’s mind our own business—“

Jim gathered himself, knowing the next step was going to be the hardest.

“Please don’t get involved,” he pulled his hand from under hers. “You have no saying in this, mother.”

He’s never called her something other than Mom.

The open look of hurt and shock on Winona’s face was ten times worse than Sato’s message. Mentally, Jim cursed himself, and secretly hoped she would understand. His words silenced Sarek as well, which allowed him to take the next step freely.

“Spock, c’mon, we’re leaving this circus.”

Spock watched him in absolute silence with concern evident in his eyes all while they took their jackets from the wardrobe and waited till the server brought their food packed in a to-go bag – Spock was always following his lead with no hesitation like a perfect First Officer that he was.

Jim was just about to explain himself as he pushed the exit doors open—

The first thought Jim had was that while they were at Antonio’s the world has been conquered by primary colours, because that could be the only reason as to why he was suddenly assaulted by a technicolour swarm.

He blinked – and then the swarm took shape and turned out to be a woman wearing every single thing from her wardrobe at once – at least, that’s what it looked like. Messy white curls surrounded her head like a cloud, bright yellow eyes stared at him under a heavy coat of sparkly blue eyeshadow, long jingling earrings touched her bared shoulders, she was wearing two waistcoats made of different patterned fabrics and a centner worth of jewelry; there was so much going on about her, it reminded Jim of the old ‘Where’s Waldo?’ pictures children could spend hours examining.

Jim could barely tear his eyes away from the choker necklace that looked like it was made from real galaxies, that’s why he stood in paralysis for a good second before he noticed a recording device protruded at him by a hand with a ring on every single finger.

Crap.

Neon blue lips parted, “Mr. Kirk, Mr. Spock!”

Jim tried to walk around her, but she was fast, somehow countering both his and Spock’s every move and shoving the device right into his mouth.

“How do you comment on the mutiny in your crew? Why did you try to kill your crewmembers? Why are you not demoted yet?!” She fired the questions like a shotgun, not even giving Jim a chance to answer. In the next moment she rounded on Spock, who moved sideways, trying to push Jim beside himself. “Mr. Spock, why are you spending recreational time with someone who attacked you? What are your feelings towards Mr. Kirk? Do you think he should be subjected to a court martial?”

The commotion attracted passersby, and soon Jim was getting an eyeful of flashes from the communicators snapping holos of them. He exchanged brief glances with Spock, and it was a wordless mutual understanding that if she didn’t desist they’d have to resort to physical violence.

True to what they’ve been told, both Spock and Jim didn’t utter a sound. They tried to step around the reporter again, but she was fast to catch up with them and throw her arm sideways to stop them from moving.

“How many more people are you planning to kill, Mr. Kirk?!”

She screamed the question, clearly merely for the sake of attracting attention.

A low murmur ran through the crowd that grew bigger with every moment.

Jim grimaced in shock and irritation, and she took the opportunity to snap a holo. Now really was a chance for a miracle to happen and for McCoy to return from Georgia on a helicopter with a flamethrower, and pull them up in the sky.

The help did come, but in the form of Winona, who has run out of the restaurant with a furious expression and shouted over the heads of the onlookers, “Stop harassing my son!! Are you even a real reporter?”

“Of course I am,” the woman replied haughtily.

“What magazine do you represent?!”

“The Intergalactic-”

She was saying something else, but Jim wasn’t interested in listening; he took her distraction as an opportunity to nod at Spock and make their escape; and the last thing he saw was the sorrow in his mother’s eyes.

***

“ _We’re doing damage control_ , they said,” Jim grumbled, walking briskly through the brightly lit streets of San Francisco, hovercars rushing past them. Mutually, they decided on leaving their cars behind in favour of a walk. “I hope their damage control doesn’t mean telling us to grow beards, change legal names, and dye our hair red.”

“I doubt they would resort to such an extreme measure,” Spock said, calm as usual, and Jim snorted at the mental image of red-headed Spock. “You seem overly focused on this aspect of the consequences.”

“What can I say,” Jim shrugged, “it’s my worst fear. Besides, you did say you wouldn’t like me with facial hair,” he made sure to make his smile especially bright to dismiss everything as a joke.

For his part, Spock seemed genuinely perturbed.

“It was merely an attempt at humour. Obviously, your appearance has no influence on your character which I value.”

Jim smiled at the lit coffee shop they were passing, catching their reflection in the glass. Sometimes Spock said the sweetest things without realizing it.

“Humour, got it.”

Those little interactions with Spock always left him feeling fulfilled, and their enveloping warmth was his shield. When things went south and he needed a distraction they helped so much better than booze: never making him forget, but relieving the pain of a disaster enough to uncover the light underneath.

And now they effectively smoothed the impact from the encounter he could only describe as the lighting-fast mental attack – but it bloomed back from being pushed back to the corner of his mind.

Thank god independent journalists and magazines were the only ones left, and the propaganda the lies served was representing only the journalists’ own motives.

“That reporter, she said the name of the magazine, didn’t she...” Jim said thoughtfully. “I didn’t catch it…”

After the assault on all of his senses things like words and names seemed to have escaped him.

“The Intergalactic,” Spock replied, and Jim actually stumbled on a pebble, nearly dropping the takeout box, and stared at Spock with wide eyes. The endless rants they exchanged with McCoy flashed before his eyes, the links to devastating articles and ridiculous allegations, bashing the Enterprise and mainly Jim himself, calling him an incompetent idiot for the ninth time – all under one name.

“Holy crap – Spock, you know who that was? Do you know who writes for The Intergalactic? _Enid Whitethorn!_ In the flesh!” He exclaimed.

Of course Spock wouldn’t look shocked, but he didn’t even bat an eyelash. He still didn’t understand why would anyone pay attention to writers from the fishy magazines.

No wonder that woman looked like she was getting dressed for the first time in her life. If someone couldn’t even grasp what the Prime Directive entailed they certainly wouldn’t handle the task of choosing a jacket and applying makeup.

The streets were buzzing with quiet energy of the evening, and after they fell silent, each thinking about the troubles having Enid Whitethorn snooping around would bring – she was the one watching them in Antonio’s, _of course_ he sensed the oncoming dread –  Jim suddenly realized this was the first time he and Spock were truly alone since their conversation in the hospital. Subconsciously, Jim’s hand flew up to touch the pendant through the fabric of the sweater, and saw Spock looking at him out of the corner of his eye.

Jim wondered if Spock would try to weasel out of this situation, but his stride was as purposeful as ever, and when he said, “I know a place where we can talk with a lowered possibility of being overheard,” Jim understood this would be the moment he waited for. He just had to refrain from pushing Spock too much.

To his utter surprise, Spock took a turn to a familiar street, and soon they were standing in front of the Academy gardens, a place where botany specialists placed the results of their experiments. The doors were sealed, but Spock keyed in a code confidently.

“I still possess the access codes from the period of time I served as an Instructor here,” Spock threw a glance at Jim over his shoulder as the doors swished open.

Jim wanted to laugh and kiss him, because Spock was breaking rules just so they could talk, and that was basically amazing.

“You sure this is legal?” Jim smiled. As soon as they stepped inside, a wave of heavy scents from the flowers rolled over them, and he sneezed. Spock motioned him to turn left quickly, into a small meadow covered in tender grass.

“It is not. However,” Spock took a tricorder out of the inner pocket of his fancy jacket and scanned for life, the screen showing only the two dots belonging to them, “this part of the garden contains experimental plantlife and is inaccessible unless you have the access code. This will allow us to discuss sensitive matters.”

Jim agreed, settling on the ground and opening the heating box with the pizza and inhaling its magical cheesy scent. “It’s even nicer than the restaurant. We did the right thing by leaving.”

He passed Spock a fork and a knife and a box with his pasta, and grabbed a pizza slice. Spock was reluctant in accepting it, no doubt protesting against the notion of having to eat anywhere but in the place specifically intended for it.

As Jim took a huge bite of the pizza, he continued looking at him with concern, eyebrows drawn together.

“Your intervention jeopardized your relationship with your mother which you both hoped to improve,” he paused, guilt apparent. “I apologize to inadvertently causing your split.”

“Nothing to apologize for,” Jim pretended to inspect the nearest tree so that Spock wouldn’t see how tight his smile was and wouldn’t have another guilt trip. “I did what I wanted. Besides, that was a controlled argument. I told you, I knew something was wrong – I needed a reason to get away so that the ones spying on us wouldn’t suspect. That Enid definitely was watching, we know it – but... Maybe someone else was too,” he added darkly. “Someone responsible for the leak, for example.”

Spock relaxed at this admission slightly, finally tasting his pasta.

“I admit your outburst was unexpected as you are not prone to hysteria. I suspected you might have a hidden reason to it.”

He took another bite, and Jim smiled.

“Good?”

“Exceedingly,” Spock said, twirling pasta around the fork as eagerly as it was possible for him. “You have made a good choice of the venue.”

“Marlena made a good choice,” Jim corrected; as much as he yearned for any bit of praise from Spock,  he couldn’t let the appreciation go to a wrong person.

Spock tilted his head thoughtfully. “May I see the card she gave you when recommending visiting the restaurant?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Jim handed him the card and added, brows furrowed, “She had no way of knowing Enid would be there. No one had, no one even knew what she looks like.”

Spock only inspected the card in silence, finally saying, voice grave, “You should apologize to your mother. She cannot be allowed to believe you do not love her.”

Jim recognized the pain and where the words came from – as usual, all he wanted was provide reassurance, hug him, protect him from all the evils of the world, tell him he’s got someone not even death could make abandon—

But instead he just bit his pizza with a lot more vigor than it deserved.

“I will, of course I will, once it’s safe for her,” he muttered. “So, your father’s marriage,” he tried to get the conversation back on track. “Dick move.”

Logically, Jim understood that T’Kari was virtually a perfect candidate to become Spock’s step-mother: he could imagine them geeking out about VSA’s latest discoveries, they hit it off so well at the joint lecture in the Academy, and she was a Vulcan, whose approval Spock so desperately desired, and unlike the others didn’t seem bothered by his half-blood status at all…

But she was just a lesser of all evils. He could imagine how Spock felt and what he tried to hide: betrayal at the decision that affected him being made without asking for his opinion, the memories of his mother obscured…

Over the course of their friendship Spock has told him many stories about Amanda Grayson, and Jim has come to admire her strong will and character, and five years just didn’t seem _enough_ to grieve. Besides, Sarek’s reasoning about _an obligation_ to get married sounded strange – even if Vulcan had a law regarding marriages or something, sure he, as an Ambassador, would find a way around it?

“He was truthful,” Spock said, looking down at the remains of his pasta. “He had to bond eventually. I knew it and I should have been prepared.”

Jim frowned. “Why?”

“We do not speak of it with outworlders.”

“Why?” Jim repeated, now curious.

“We do not speak of the reasons why we do not speak.”

Suddenly this was the funniest thing Jim’s ever heard, and he shook in mute laughter, basking at the glow that warmed his inside at the sight of Spock’s tiniest smile.

“It is illogical for me to be against my father’s marriage,” he said quietly.

Jim took a chance to brush his wrist lightly, careful to touch only the fabric. “I understand. I had the same situation with my Mom when she remarried.”

“Is she still married now?”

“No, she divorced when I was a kid – once she realized what an asshole her new husband was,” he said bitterly. “Well, it could’ve been worse,” he added, seeing Spock’s concerned look, “some people go through their entire lives never once realizing they are being used by the people they surrounded themselves with.”

“Professor T’Kari is not… a bad choice,” Spock said. “She has gifted me a ship.”

Jim leaned sideways, overcome by curiosity, as Spock took out a datachip and showed him the hologram – and Jim gaped, recognizing the silhouette he thought he’d never see again.

“The _Jellyfish_?!” He exclaimed, momentarily forgetting the need to keep his voice low. “Wow, talk about trying to buy your love. What’s next, gifting you a planet?”

“She does not have any in her possession as far as I am aware,” Spock replied, closing the hologram and hiding it inside his pocket. Suddenly, Jim became very aware of the pendant pressed against his chest by the fabric of the sweater.

For some reason, this was where he remembered alternate universe Spock’s warning: “ _he will need your help very soon._ ” Was this what he meant – perhaps Sarek married T’Kari in the alternate universe too? No, this couldn’t be the case: Amanda was alive and well there.

Jim didn’t like the sudden secrecy surrounding their relationship that was so transparent and easy before. He wanted to blame the mirror universe – as they’ve come to call it – for the change, but this wasn’t its fault. The change has started even before Altamid, right after Ambassador Spock’s death: that’s when Spock began to distance himself. Probably trying to prepare Jim and himself for the event of leaving that never happened – and never will if Jim had something to say about it.

After all, “what would I do without you” weren’t simple adrenalin-filled words escaping in the heat of the moment; he meant them with dedication that used to scare him.

Jim missed the Ambassador. The last time they spoke was so nondescript, just a regular exchange of pleasantries and personal experiences, he had no idea it was going to be the last moment he saw Spock’s wrinkled face and kind eyes on the computer screen. He wondered whether Ambassador knew he would die soon, what he thought about death. If only he was there to give him a few pointers...

The pendant was warm against his skin; it was the second of his personal possessions Jim has received. Ambassador has left behind many saved lives and new discoveries, and Jim has received a real paper letter mysteriously entitled “Open when Spock will start acting strange after his thirtieth birthday”. The word strange was then crossed out and ominously replaced with “terrifyingly uncharacteristic.” Jim’s hands were itching to know its contents – Ambassador has always spoken so vaguely about his experiences, going into details only twice, telling their encounter with Khan (since their universe has already experienced some version of it) and how they rescued USS Defiant (because a topic of Spock’s and McCoy’s relationship came up) – but Jim stayed true to his friend’s dying wish and didn’t touch the letter.

“What are you focusing on?” He asked, seeing a far-off look on Spock’s face he usually got when thinking about complex problems.

“I am trying to determine my father’s whereabouts and his mental state.”

“Bonds can do it?” Jim turned to face his fully, eager as always to learn something new, especially about a secretive culture.

“92.9% or marital bonds and 60.4% of familial bonds, if they are properly maintained,” Spock nodded, apparently giving up on his task and returning to his regular neutral expression. “However, my father and I were distant both mentally and physically, which resulted in weakening of the link, which is why I was not successful in this endeavour. A bond has to be very strong to be able to determine the exact location.”

“Like... The t’hy’la bond?” Jim barely resisted touching the pendant. He knew he was walking on thin ice despite the warnings hammered into his own head.

If he wasn’t watching Spock closely, he wouldn’t have noticed the barely-there uncomfortable squirming.

But Spock couldn’t lie, so he replied, “Yes.”

Jim wasn’t stupid: he has already realized that everything Spock told him in the Sickbay wasn’t just some abstract legend told on a whimsy, but a very real thing they shared.

Jim wanted to press, to push, to force him to reveal the information Spock so obviously tried to hold on to even as it was slipping through his fingers – but he cared too much to risk upsetting him further. Spock has already had enough loss and unpleasantness in his life for Jim to be the just another backstabber. So he stayed silent, for now.

Eventually, he would talk to Spock and put all the cards on the table. He would tell him that ignoring the bond was illogical, and considering the progress his emotions made maybe they could pursue it not only in a strategic sense – but not now. Now they were sitting in a beautiful shadowy garden full of possibly dangerous experiments, and the silence around them made it seem like a perfect dream.

After the food was finished and the boxes disposed in recycling chutes, Jim brought up another topic that bothered him.

“Is there anything I can do about the court martial? I can’t be a lawyer, but I can be a cheerleader – metaphorically, of course. Or literally, if you’d like that,” he laughed shortly, while realizing with perfect clarity that if Spock asked him to grab some pom-poms and dance to the beat he would do so without hesitation.

Spock glanced at him sternly. “I do not require emotional support, Captain.”

“Well tough luck, because I’m gonna give it to you anyway,” was Jim’s stubborn reply to Spock’s equally stubborn look.

Their gazes pierced each other, neither wanting to be the first to break the impromptu staring contest, until both of their communicators pinged in unison. That could only mean a message from Starfleet, and when Jim opened his, to his delight, Spock didn’t touch his own communicator, looking at Jim’s instead. This message was signed by Vice Admiral Sato as well, updating them on how the process of erasing the traces of the video went. She repeated her warning about avoiding any contact with the outside world; and even though she didn’t mention any names, Jim couldn’t help but feel this message was directed at them.

All the holos taken at the restaurant must be swimming through the intergalactic net merrily already.

It was very suspicious, Jim thought, that Enid chose this exact moment to show her face after years of bashing him from the underground.

They had to counteract this somehow.

“They are removing every upload,” Jim mused, “but you know how it is-“

“-it is not within Starfleet’s jurisdiction to inspect personal databanks disconnected from the global network,” Spock finished, understanding him without words as usual.

“Exactly. Privacy laws and all that.”

“However, I am certain they will find a way to negotiate, it is the matter of Federation security.”

“Yeah,” Jim said. “Your court martial makes even less sense now.”

Spock made a sound that could be considered a sigh. “Jim, we have discussed this already--“

“No,” Jim waved his hand, “I’m not saying they are like _lying_ about your actions, it’s just that anyone with half a brain cell can see it was self-defence. And now that the footage is leaked it’s even more obvious. I keep thinking why Samoilov would be so adamant about me not being at that trial.”

Spock raised one eyebrow. “Perhaps he merely wished to avoid your display of emotionality after he encountered one himself?”

Jim didn’t take the sass bait. “It’s not like telling me ‘no’ will stop me from appearing at the trial, and he knows it. It sounded like he didn’t want me to reveal some kind of groundbreaking evidence before the court – but that’s ridiculous, because first,” he counted on his fingers, “there’s no evidence, and second, like I said, the trial will end the moment it starts, no evidence in your defense is even needed. Perhaps they simply want to scare us.”

After all, they weren’t the only ones who got this treatment. Poor Scotty was growing restless on the ground; luckily, Uhura and Jaylah were there to keep him company. The last Jim heard from them was when they attended some kind of theatre. When Jim first heard about it, he couldn’t stop the tiny vile voice asking himself why they didn’t invite him along – although he understood those three simply were a different company with different interests.

“I agree with your deduction,” Spock said.

“They’re trying to distract us from something bigger…”

“The Tantalus Field,” Spock finished immediately.

“Exactly,” Jim snapped his fingers. “Theoretically, they could leak the footage to cause an uproar – and make us focus on the ridiculous trial instead…” He crossed his arms, lips thinning. “And I’m not saying it’s Samoilov, but it’s Samoilov.”

Spock’s eyebrow rose even higher. “Did you draw this conclusion merely from the fact that his initials spell ASS?”

Jim’s head whipped around in surprise – he wanted to laugh with glee and say ‘ _Haha, Spock said ass’_ – after all, he heard about the legendary ‘horseshit’ only from McCoy; but he only shrugged with a smile.

“Point taken.”

After all, not all assholes he met were evil people – some were just their particular brand of unpleasant.

“So what do you think we should do?” He mused.

“Uncertain,” Spock got that far-off look again. “Perhaps we should allow them to carry on with their plan so that we can understand it.”

“And wait until they make a mistake,” Jim finished, tapping his fingers on one knee. “Outplay them, let them think we are falling for their schemes. Yes, sounds good.”

They sat in silence for a while, thinking about how to avoid the damage.

Finally, Spock said, “Captain, I have a proposition.”

Jim grinned. “Are you reading my mind, Spock? Because I have one as well.”

***

As of the morning of the following day, the copies have been neutralized and the search for the culprit has began – Vice Admiral Sato has informed Jim of that. He demanded to know when the obviously set up trial would be cancelled, but she dismissed him, saying the allegations brought against Spock were legit, and _“if Mr. Spock is truly innocent he will have no problems.”_

_“_ As much as I respect and understand your feelings, Captain,” she added, but even though she sounded sincere, he didn’t think she could truly understand.

The Halka Incident investigation was still at large, the HQ where Jim arrived was bursting with people, even including Commodore Paris – another witness to the heinous crime the Tantalus Field caused.

“No matter how fast they worked, the damage is done,” Paris said, looking at Jim warmly despite the seriousness of the topic. “We cannot erase the tapes from the public’s memories. And I can’t deny that you have suffered the most from the leak, as the highest ranking, most prominent figure.”

Jim inclined his head in understanding. He had a feeling the encounter with Enid last night was just a tip of a yet unseen iceberg.

“However, I believe I have a solution,” Paris continued. “A public relations specialist.”

“Public relations–” Jim frowned. “A PR agent, like actors have?”

“Precisely.”

Jim halted and stared at her.

“I’m not a celebrity!” He couldn’t help but sound defiant; he’s had a fair share of fame after the disasters he survived before the start of the five-year mission, and wasn’t missing it at the slightest. Much less after Yorktown, because Commodore Paris was a saint with his best intentions in mind. This thought made him pause; after all, Paris has never had bad ideas, and if she thought a PR agent was what would remedy the situation, she must be right.

Jim shot her an apologetic look, but she didn’t look offended at his tone at all.

“Believe me, I know, and I don’t want you to be one. But let’s be real: people look up to you, follow you, and after that leak we need to work on your reputation,” she smiled slightly. “I confess, I’m quoting the PR specialist here. I don’t actually know that much about this business.”

Jim nodded. By doing this he would also help his crew, and this was a much more potent motivator than helping himself.

“So when am I going to meet them?”

“Right now,” Paris replied, as they approached one of the HQ’s smallest briefing rooms.

The doors swished open and revealed a man bent over a padd, typing rapidly; he straightened, hearing them enter, making the overlights slide in his sleek black hair.

Everything about him screamed ‘latest fashion’, from the thin line tattooed around his neck to the grey suede jacket. His bangs were cut into three triangular shapes: a wide one lying on his forehead between the ridges, going all the way down to the bridge of his nose in a perfect parallel to his tilted eyebrows, and two to cover his temples, sliding along his pointed ears. A Romulan.

The man gave Jim and Paris a wide smile and dropped the padd to extend Jim a hand.

“Pleasure to meet you, Captain Kirk, my name is P’rile E’eno Regail – but you can just call me Regail, there’s no need in formalities, and, well, it’s not like you could pronounce my family name correctly anyway,” while telling all this he continued shaking Jim’s hand with such enthusiasm one might assume he’s just met the creator of the entire universe.

“You’re a Romulan,” Jim blurted.

Regail’s black eyes flew wide, as if he’s just been told he’s dying. “Am I?” He pressed a hand to his side, where the heart was. “I didn’t notice!!”

Jim grimaced at himself. Great, now he looked like a xenophobe.

“I apologize, I meant no disrespect – I just haven’t seen a Romulan PR agent before.”

Regail waved a hand dismissively, not bothered by the words; he must’ve gotten such a reaction a lot. Jim noticed another tattoo on his finger, a thick black line where a wedding ring would go.

“Write it in your memoir. All the things you saw in deep space… Romulans are proficient in many activities. Just like humans, or Orions, or literally any species out here,” he shrugged. “When I was fourteen I asked the Federation for political asylum if you are wondering, and I’m adopted by a human. I’ve been an Earth citizen for longer than you have.”

“That’s… great,” Jim said, thinking how he could stir the conversation in a more polite route. “How long have you been on Earth?”

“Oh, a week or so,” Regail shrugged. “I’m constantly in a travelling mode, going wherever my clients need me.”

“This is going to be your temporary office, Mr. Kirk,” Paris said. “I’ve pulled some strings, and now you have a comfortable neutral territory where no one will bother you.”

“Thank you, Commodore,” Jim replied warmly. Paris was gone at such lengths for him, it made him want to hug her.

“Good luck. I am certain everything will be well, Mr. Regail is the best specialist in this field, or so I’ve been told,” Paris said.

“Guilty,” Regail laughed, exchanging a smile with her before she departed.

This was what finally reassured Jim about the decision. He had no idea what awaited him in this partnership, but this guy was picked by Paris, and if she said he is the best, it must be true.

“I’m looking forward to working with you,” Jim said, finally giving him a stiff smile as well.

Regail beamed.

“In that case,” he kicked out the chair by the desk, “shall we begin?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember the mysteriously vanishing private communications from the Mirror?... Here's an explanation. And Enid comes back in all her glory! That's why I insisted Mirror should be read first, otherwise this Enid hatred would seem spontaneous.  
> Anyway, this is the chapter dedicated to introducing the original characters who would play some part in the plot; don't worry, there won't be any more of them. I seize any chance I can get to write about the way PR and marketing influence people's minds...  
> I love Winona, and I wanted to write her relationship with Jim complicated and distant but not traumatic in any sense - just like so many real parent/child relationships work.  
> Also sorry, I couldn't resist a Black Mirror reference.  
> Alright, I don't want to make the end notes too cluttered, I'll leave the rest for tumblr.


	3. The Trial

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Jim gets a PR agent, finally watches the recording of what his mirrorverse self has done in his body, and attends Spock's trial.  
> ...Well, almost attends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: PR/marketing talk.

_“_ _The prisoner who now stands before you_

_Was caught red-handed showing feelings,_

_Showing feelings of an almost human nature_

_This will not do_ — _”_

 

_Click._

Jim paused the music player Regail gave him and crossed his arms.

“What the hell was that?”

Regail was sprawled in the visitor’s chair, legs outstretched, showing off polished grey shoes Jim was sure were posted in a fashion blog yesterday.

“A gift from me,” he replied with a smile. “I heard you like classical music so I collected some for you – a fitting song, don’t you think?” He breathed out a laugh, no doubt hinting at the upcoming court martial.

Jim frowned. “You think this is funny?”

“A little bit, yeah,” Regail waved his hand carelessly, the other already stuck deep inside his briefcase.

Jim pursed his lips. He didn’t like when Spock was being made fun of.

“Well, if you don’t like it, I’ve prepared another one,” Regail said cheerfully, not paying any attention to Jim’s mood, and shoved a framed holograph into Kirk’s hands: Regail’s portrait from waist-up, a self-assured smile playing on his thin lips.

Jim blinked at the holo in utter bewilderment. The holo blinked back at him.

Perhaps that was a Romulan tradition he was unaware of.

“In times of trouble,” he continued, making an inspiring gesture, “you can look me in the eye and ask yourself – what would Regail do?”

Jim lowered the holo and saw the flesh-and-blood Regail watching him with the exact same expression as the holo.

“...Right. I’ll do no such thing.”

It seemed it had nothing to do with traditions – he was most likely out of touch with his heritage anyway – and everything to do with Regail’s obsession with his own image.

However, he was completely unperturbed by Jim’s refusal of the gift and dived into the briefcase again.

“Well, there’s always a plan C, never say I come unprepared,” Regail pulled out a bottle of light green liquid. “Humans are tricky to please, but I’ve managed to learn what a universal gift is. This particular wonderful thing is _lhiet_ juice, a Romulan equivalent of a beer.”

Jim raised both eyebrows watching the _lhiet_ being poured into two glasses. “Isn’t importing alcohol from Romulus illegal?”

“Not when you’re a good law-abiding Romulan who needs just a _taste_ of motherland,” Regail smiled with the most innocent expression ever seen on a living being. “Here’s to our successful working relationship,” he raised a glass, and Jim had no choice but no accept his own and return the salute.

The drink had a pleasant bitter aftertaste, like lemon zest, and left a delicious tingling sensation in his throat. If there was one thing Romulans were terribly good at besides the military stratagem it was alcohol; and privately, Jim hoped Regail managed to legally smuggle more bottles.

Regail seemed to be waiting for Jim to drain his _lhiet_ , because he eyed him with laser-sharp focus the moment the glass clunked against the desk.

“Now that the work was blessed with firewater,” he said, “let’s start with your public appearances.”

Jim shrugged as if trying to shake the feel of the invisible eyes off his back. “I don’t see how this is necessary. I never was a truly public persona.”

He’s always avoided reporters; talking with them about the disasters he faced somehow felt like demeanishing them.

Regail snapped his fingers, pointing one at Jim, “And there’s your problem! Do you know how bad it is to have your first public appearance be through a viral video depicting you as a total nutcase that was watched by 90 million people already? People know your name and your deeds, sure, but they don’t know _you_ – what kind of a person you are, what do you stand for, what’s your favourite song, preferred planet of residence, or relationship status? The audience needs to know this; if you don’t tell your story, then someone else will do it _for you_. Like–”

“Enid Whitethorn,” Jim finished.

“Exactly!” Regail’s hands flew up. “You’ve never even contradicted her!”

“Because no one is dumb enough to believe her.”

Regail shrugged. “People generally tend to take things at face value. It’s a result of today’s society being based on kindness and honesty – which is good, obviously – but how often do you listen to someone and think, _Hmm, that’s cool, but what if they’re lying?_ You’re only doing it when the outcome can’t be risked, like during the missions, right?” Jim nodded; he realized where this was doing, but honestly, listening to Regail’s passionate speech was fascinating. “They,” he stuck a finger at the imaginary audience outside the window, “don’t have anything to choose from, of course there’s bound to be someone who listens to Enid: and that’s why there’s a backlash from that video despite Starfleet issuing an official statement saying it was fake. Don’t you think there wouldn’t be any negative consequences if the audience wasn’t _ready_ to see exactly what they saw?!”

Jim was about to protest when he remembered Jaylah’s words: _‘my classmates like to discuss her stories.’_ If Starfleet cadets, on whose general common sense he had quite a high opinion on, were invested in Enid...

“I suppose you’re right,” Jim said slowly.

“Of course I am,” Regail tapped his fingers on the desk – he seemed to be unable to stop moving even though he sounded calmer now, “I’m always right. Now, going to that restaurant was no good,” he clicked his tongue. “Was it really so imperative to meet up with your faithful companion that you couldn’t _wait_?”

Jim frowned. Of course he realized they would be recorded, especially after their confrontation with Enid, but somehow Regail mentioning it now, in that judgmental tone, seemed worse.

“It was, in fact, thank you for asking,” Jim snapped back instantly, and Regail didn’t look affected at the slightest – he only turned his padd on.

“We just don’t need another scandal attached to your name – your First Officer is awaiting a court martial and this may send the wrong message that’ll hurt both you and him. It’s better if you stop seeing him outside of duty at all – so, no more dates, please.”

“No,” Jim said without hesitation. “I will not abandon my friend for the sake of a stupid PR campaign.”

Correcting the ‘date’ assumption just didn’t come to his mind.

“Even if that stupid campaign is designed to save your career? Your rank, your ship?”

Jim said nothing. He didn’t like being given such a choice; mostly because he really wouldn’t be able to decide between his career and his relationships.

He just hoped this choice would stay metaphorical forever.

His turmoil must’ve been obvious, because for the first time Regail stopped smiling, folded his legs underneath the chair and leaned forward with his hands on the table: a picture of pure professionalism.

“I feel like we need to straighten out a couple of things before we begin,” he said. “Captain Kirk, I was hired to do a job by Commodore Paris, to do it perfectly as always, and I am determined to see it through. It is in your best interests to listen to what I say, even if it means allowing me to control certain aspects of your life. Once it’s over you can walk around on all fours if you want, but right now let me do damage control.”

Jim should’ve protested: even the most miniscule control over his life triggered a fight or flight response. But the name of Commodore Paris stopped him. That woman clearly cared about him, expected him to succeed, and went all this way to ensure his reputation would be restored. And thus, for her sake, he nodded curtly in agreement, and Regail’s demeanour switched back to over-the-top enthusiasm immediately, as if nothing happened.

“Great! I’ve already sketched some outlines for how we can turn you into your good old lovable self,” he took out a padd swiftly. “I have some connections in the reality show business; wanna take part in the newlyweds show?”

Jim snorted.

“I’m not married, let alone newly.”

“Of course, of course, such a shame... A good faithful marriage would’ve worked in our favour. You wanna join The Bachelor then? The next season is on Risa—”

“I’m not interested in reality shows, thank you.”

“Alright, alright,” Regail raised his hands in surrender, with a clear disappointment. “Just a suggestion. It would’ve been so perfect…” He sighed, as if lamenting all the clients he never sent on reality TV. “There is one event you _must_ attend though: Miss Rajso’s art exhibition dedicated to the anniversary of Cait becoming a Federation member. Don’t look at me like that,” he said before Jim could interject. “You’ll wear your dress uniform with all the chest candy and will be seen mingling with the right high-class people, politicians, Ambassadors, many Starfleet folks obviously – very good for your image to be seen trusted by them,” he tapped something in his padd, and Jim’s communicator lit up with a digital pass and several mile-long articles about choosing a perfect pair of shoes attached. “I had to pull lots of strings to get you an invitation, so I will hear no objections.”

Regail’s way of talking was very sharp and fast, like a shredder, and Jim’s already figured it was easier to just let him talk away.

“You can bring a plus one—”

Immediately, Jim’s mind produced an image of Spock and himself, walking around the exhibition, lost in their quiet conversation, exchanging opinions and jokes, and maybe even tiny smiles on Spock’s end – but Regail was already finishing, “That will be me, obviously.”

Jim had to do a double-take. “Why?”

“I have to keep an eye on you, don’t I,” he said off-handedly. “Remember, this is not for fun, this is for a job—”

“What if I have someone else to bring—”

“You don’t,” Regail cut him off without taking his eyes off the padd. “Yes, the exhibition will be a good start. We still have two weeks before it begins, and in the meantime I will be buying a service that will let me place links to the positive information about you in the first page of the search results whenever anyone googles your name, find a reporter to work with us on writing a bunch of praising pieces, commission a research on debunking fake videos in general done in a fun way – I’m thinking vlog? who’s the most popular internet persona now? – take statements from Starfleet higher-ups that people would trust to testify for your character, contact survivors of the catastrophes you’ve personally prevented, et cetera, et cetera. You know, the usual,” he was saying all of this while typing with an inhuman speed, and Jim was a bit reassured that it wasn’t just a waste of time; Regail clearly knew what he was doing. “All I need from you is to keep your mouth shut, don’t get involved in anything unless I say so, and just… act the part. Remember, you’re the most innocent man alive, you’ve never done anything wrong in your entire life, born with a freaking halo attached to your perfect hair, and everyone who says otherwise merely try to spoil your image. Now that it’s settled, let’s talk details. In your own opinion, what moment in the leaked footage caused the most outrage?”

Jim shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t watched it yet.”

Regail dropped his padd.

“You’re _kidding_ me right now,” he threw his hands in the air dramatically. “Good lord! How can I work on your reputation if you don’t even know _what_ _to_ fix?! That’s it,” he threw the padd in the briefcase and the glass in the recycling chute – impressive, seeing how it was two metres away, “we’re done for today,” when Jim opened his mouth Regail stuck fingers into his ears, squeezing his eyes shut. “No, I’m not talking to you until you watch the tapes! Only after that we’ll think about how to convince everyone the man they saw isn’t you.”

Regail threw the briefcase over his shoulder, and stood with one hand on his hip, every movement too inhumanly fast to catch up to. He seemed to be a personification of the word ‘intense.’

“Well, what are you waiting for? Go ahead and enlighten yourself!”

Jim just rolled his eyes and stayed in the chair defiantly, pulling out his communicator to text McCoy: Regail’s attitude brought out the childishly stubborn part of him he thought he’s already grown out of.

***

McCoy arrived in San Francisco that very evening, fuming about the leak and the whispers he overheard in the shuttle. He wasn’t such a prominent figure as Jim, a doctor’s heroism was often left in the shadow of a man holding a phaser; of course he would get the short end of the stick. Finally Jim had someone to vent to, and he launched into a detailed description of the campaign he was expected to do, accompanied by McCoy’s supportive gasps and snorts.

“I just don’t get it – what am I, a politician caught kicking puppies?” Jim gestured wildly. “What do I need a PR agent for?”

McCoy huffed, “Well, I, for once, agree with them, people consider you a celebrity, Jim, whether you like it or not! You sneeze and it goes viral, varying from a new line of t-shirts _‘Sneeze like a Kirk’_ to headlines like _‘Is the Captain of the Enterprise dying from a contagious virus?! Click here to find out!’_ ”

Jim laughed, a little forced. He knew the real reason for McCoy’s frustration wasn’t the breach in the archive, but having to depart from his daughter.

“They couldn’t find worse timing for this hellstorm,” he sighed. “How did Jo take it?”

McCoy’s eyebrows were drawn low over his eyes, casting them into a deep shadow. “She was disappointed that I had to leave, of course. But Jocelyn was the worst. Guess what her favourite magazine is?”

“ _The Intergalactic_.”

“Exactly,” McCoy said darkly. “She drinks that shit like her whiskey. Even if I haven’t left she would’ve kicked me out,” he pitched his voice in a mock impression of Jocelyn, “ _what kind of influence will you have on Jo? She doesn’t need a father who brutally assaults his crewmembers!_ And I _know_ she knows it’s a fake, but she’ll just never ever accept it: not when she’s been given a perfect leverage against me!”

Jim clasped McCoy’s shoulder in mute support.

They showed their IDs to a security officer who let them into a small room of the archive where a screen with the footage was waiting for them.

The archive employee greeted them and exited politely, leaving Jim and McCoy alone with the screen and sinking sense of dread; both knew their perception of the Halka Incident would never be the same after watching. Jim was glad McCoy was there to share this experience with him; they exchanged one last glance – and then he pressed play.

They started from the very beginning, watching the bridge camera recording Kirk, Uhura, Scotty, and McCoy assemble the strange composition out of pieces of equipment and chunks of the Halkan mineral.

It was strange to see himself say the words he didn’t say, his face forming expressions he's never made. Even after everything he’s witnessed an idea that some version of him could become such a merciless man wasn’t something Jim could wrap his head around.

 _“I’d hate to see you die,”_ Kirk was saying in his communicator when Spock requested to come aboard with Sulu, and his voice had a tilt Jim hasn’t heard this version of himself use before. It was – hopeful? Judging by the way other three reacted, for Kirk to show even a droplet of mercy was shocking.

Kirk ordered Scotty to meet Spock and Sulu in the transporter room and added, _“Make sure they don’t do anything funny, but do not harm Spock more than necessary. Do whatever you want with Sulu, just don’t kill him yet – I need him as leverage.”_

“That’s where we should put in the recording from the transporter room,” McCoy muttered when the activity on the bridge stilled, pointing at the array of recordings from other cameras on the Enterprise waiting for them.

“Let’s do it later,” Jim replied, watching the screen aptly: Scotty has just entered with the phaser pointed at Sulu. Sulu was limping and clutching a wound in his side, but his eyes were burning with determination better than any anesthetic. Both Sulu and Spock had flakes of dried blood on their faces and clothes from the poison circulating in the ventilation of the ship – and fresh splashes of red and green on top of them.

Jim frowned when his counterpart marched up to Spock and ripped the gray scarf off his neck; his supposed desire to have Spock never preventing him from using sharp, ruthless movements while frisking him and offering no help with the wounds.

Off-handedly, he noted that this was the minute where the leaked part began.

Spock stood still as a statue when Kirk all but shoved his hands inside his uniform, running the palms over the bare skin of his chest. Jim felt sick and ready to throw himself bodily at the imposter, and McCoy made a faint disgusted sound next to him.

Frisking Sulu was a lot less slow and intimate process, and Kirk paused when he found a chain around Sulu’s neck. Slowly, purposefully he dragged the chain out of the uniform’s collar, raising both eyebrows at Sulu; and Jim nearly crashed the edge of the desk when he realized it was the Ambassador’s pendant.

“What the hell is that?” McCoy murmured next to him.

“ _I thought I said no weapons,_ ” Kirk was saying on the screen.

 _“I keep my husband’s and daughter’s photos there, okay?”_ Sulu lied, staring at Kirk with no fear.

McCoy threw a quick questioning glance at Jim – of course he’s never seen the pendant before – but Jim wouldn’t be able to look away from the screen even if he wanted to.

His hand flew to his chest reflexively, pressing at the pendant there. For some reason, seeing in on the screen, knowing it was the key to helping defeat the imposters made Jim realize how much this seemingly basic data chip has been through. It was an old model – although it wasn’t even invented in their timeline yet – holding so much history and weight – and affection.

Meanwhile, Kirk was boasting about his ingenious method of creating the Tantalus Field, and Jim didn’t forget that every word he was saying was heard by Spock too. As he talked about their relationship, Jim wondered how Spock took the news. Nothing could be gauged from his expression.

...But at least he didn’t seem disgusted.

 _“This is your opportunity to turn your life for the best,”_ Kirk said finally.

_“You seem to be very confident in understanding my needs despite knowing me for mere four point two hours.”_

Jim watched the tense lines of Spock’s shoulders, the way he stood, unyielding, yet prepared to dodge and strike if needed, and despite knowing he got out of the bender with minimal damage, he couldn’t help but feel apprehension and desire to jump into the scene and shove the man wearing his face away.

“ _You were lonely in my universe too,_ ” Kirk was saying. _“Not because Vulcan was gone, but because the empty space in your mind was much grander than that of an average Vulcan without a marital bond. Your mind is screaming to be fulfilled because it already knows_ who _it needs.”_

Jim leaned forward, catching every sound. His counterpart knew more about Spock than he did, they were bonded – a pang of envy at the thought – could he possibly have a key to what he was supposed to help Spock with?...

 _“Upon discovering your connection, why did you choose to act on it?”_ Spock asked, unruffled. Or at least, sounding like it; the camera angle wasn’t the best to show his face, but Jim could imagine the turmoil going on in his eyes. He was uncomfortable discussing the connection with Jim – of course hearing his counterpart talk about it so casually would squick him out even more. _“If my calculations are correct, it will not become imperative for approximately ten months.”_

Jim leaned even closer, trying to catch the inflections of the expressions on the small screen, so much that McCoy had to make him straighten when the distance became dangerous to his eyesight.

 _“It was logical,”_ Kirk said, mocking.

_“Explain your logic.”_

_“A telepathic link is a perfect strategic asset.”_

_No_ , Jim thought, _that’s not all._ He wondered if Spock understood Kirk’s true motivation.

 _“The Enterprise didn’t rise up simply because of the Tantalus Field,”_ Kirk continued, _“it was also because she had a command team no one else could rival. See, Spock, this is destiny. You and I, on all universes.”_

His tone became strangely gentle, so unusual after the snappish way he was talking. Jim watched Spock’s reaction closely, but he didn’t give anything anyway. Of course he wouldn’t; this wasn’t about any big revelations about destiny, Spock had a mission: save the crew, stop the Tantalus Field.

Yet, a bitter undertone appeared in his voice.

_“Destiny implies there is no freedom of choice. I do not wish to apply this concept to any aspect of my personal life.”_

Jim was still mulling over his words while Kirk set up the Tantalus Field and had a short pretentious conversation with Commodore Paris – and did the thing everyone has already told Jim about: used the Field to evaporate Knoll, Bosco, and Ryushevich on the spot without a trace. Still, seeing it was nothing like hearing about it.

Kirk didn’t bat an eye at Commodore Paris’s shocked face on the viewscreen – this demonstration was for Spock’s eyes only. An angry sound arose at Jim’s throat: did this man honestly think he could impress Spock into submission with murder?

 _“I have the Enterprise,”_ he said, _“the power over the entire quadrant, the crew, the trust of the naive public, and fear of the Admiralty... And a cherry on top: you, Spock. The crown jewel of the world I am going to build.”_

And that’s when Jim realized what that unusual tilt in Kirk’s voice meant: if every other recording of the man showed him focused on one mission only: the Tantalus Field, it seemed that now all he could think about was getting Spock on his side. Perhaps it was a consequence of having his desired goal just within his reach – or perhaps he simply missed his own Spock, if he was even capable of such an emotion.

_“I must decline your offer.”_

_“I offer you glory! To stand by my side and never be alone; that’s everything you could possibly wish for!”_

Suddenly Jim sensed something shifting in Spock’s mood imperceptibly in response to Kirk’s anger; his suspicions were confirmed when Spock stepped closer to Kirk.

 _“Perhaps,_ ” his voice dropped lower into a gorgeous intonation Jim’s never heard before; and he clenched his teeth at the thought of _his counterpart_ being the one to bring this tone out, _“you should try harder to convince me if that is what you truly desire. I do wish to stand on this bridge with the Captain, but I do not ask for glory or wealth in return. I never ask for anything.”_

Spock’s fingers were steady and sure when they touched Kirk’s cheek.

 _“You could though,”_ Kirk’s voice changed into something Jim was familiar with; the low murmur filling the late-night chess games when the silence was too mesmerizing to be disturbed. _“If you wanted, you’d have Starfleet eating out of your hand,”_ that was something Jim could agree with. He nodded unconsciously.

Jim was distantly aware of McCoy shifting and muttering on his right; but he didn’t glance in his direction, completely enthralled by the video. Fingers pressed against his cheek without his conscious thought: it was _this_ body that Spock touched.

He watched his own face softening, and on screen Kirk’s hand caressed Spock’s fingers, while the other circled his neck, bringing their lips agonizingly closer; and just like his counterpart, holding his breath, Jim missed the way Spock’s free hand moved towards his pocket sneakily.

And then all hell broke loose.

Jim jerked away from the screen at the sound of crashing bones in Spock’s hands, audible even through the speaker of the recording device, and the pained shout Jim never wanted to hear from him again reverberated through the room.

Spock’s forehead collided with Kirk’s nose, but the patches of red colouring their uniforms were nothing compared to the sickly trickles of green dripping down Spock’s hands, now hanging down limp and weak.

“ _Fuck_ , are you seeing this?!” McCoy exclaimed – an unnecessary question, because Jim couldn’t look away. When Rand appeared like an avenging angel brandishing a padd and attacking McCoy’s counterpart, Jim saw McCoy’s hand touching the back of his head involuntarily, and his own stomach clenched with the phantom pain of Sulu’s accidental phaser blast.

But all he could think of was that he – his counterpart – deserved it.

The rest of the scene became a blur, it was impossible to tell who was attacking whom without slowing the video down; up until Uhura’s desperate _“Cease fire, we surrender!”_ over the comm.

That’s when Jim leaned closer again, because he saw Spock beckoning Rand. They spoke too quiet for even the recording to pick up; and when Rand approached the console where the pendant was inserted, she leaned over it in a way that concealed her hands. All they witnessed was the moment when she put the pendant back around Spock’s neck.

“What is that thing?” McCoy muttered, squinting.

Jim pondered whether to tell him, as he’s already done several times; but just as before, he felt like the Ambassador’s secret was for his and Spock’s eyes only, so he only shrugged.

Then Tereshkova’s security arrived, all brandishing phasers; the chief security officer – a lieutenant – slipped on a blood stain before regaining his balance and shouting, _“You are all under temporary arrest_ – _”_

A hand shoving him away didn’t let him finish, and the next moment a man with dark brown skin and short graying hair squeezed through the security effortlessly, throwing the lieutenant a glare on the way.

_“Let me treat the injured first, and then you’ll arrest them all you want!”_

McCoy had an incredibly pleased expression of medical solidarity.

Dr. M’Benga was at Spock’s side instantly, while several doctors and nurses following him attended to others. M’Benga tried to take a look at Spock’s hands, but Spock was more interested in looking over M’Benga’s shoulder to see Jim’s body being put on the stretcher. The soaked scarf covering his wound was tossed aside, and Rand dashed to gather it immediately, exchanging tiniest nods with Spock.

 _“Doctor,”_ Spock was saying, _“you must focus all your efforts on saving the Captain and_ — _”_

 _“As you can see,”_ M’Benga interrupted, _“their condition has been assessed and they are being treated by a crew of qualified professionals.”_

 _“In this case you must assist attending to the crew marooned on the surface first_ — _”_

 _“Tereshkova’s medical team is already beaming them up and treating their injuries,”_ M’Benga said, a medical tricorder beeping at him impatiently. _“Your wounds are much more severe and more difficult to heal.”_

 _“Wellbeing of the crew is my top priority_ — _”_ Spock began, trying to escape the doctor, and M’Benga snapped the tricorder’s lid at him.

 _“I am Dr. Geoffry M’Benga, I have studied medicine on Vulcan and I am the only one here capable of helping you,”_ his voice was like steel. _“Do you want to lose your touch telepathy forever?!”_ M’Benga exclaimed fervently, and this was what finally made Spock shut up. Jim glanced at McCoy in horror – touch telepathy was such an important part of his identity, to even think about losing it, and because of Jim’s own body’s actions… _“With all due respect, I will hear no more protests from you, Commander.”_

“This man is my hero,” McCoy muttered under his breath.

Reluctantly, Spock extended both hands, so mangled that the skin wasn’t visible under the green anymore.

No wonder Spock was avoiding him. Jim wouldn’t blame him for reflexively recoiling in fear after seeing his face.

The medical team took Jim’s, McCoy’s, and Scotty’s bodies, and insisted Uhura and Sulu lie on the stretchers too in order to not mess up their injuries further; Rand and security walked out after them, and Spock with M’Benga and the angry lieutenant were the last to vacate the bridge.

For a few seconds, they could only see the image of practically unrecognizable bridge, in a state worse than when they’ve crashed on Altamid, with a large red spot in the centre where Jim’s body used to lie – and then it went black. The recording ended.

McCoy exhaled, slumped back in his chair, and ran both hands through his hair.

“You get why I wasn’t hot on watching this shit,” he groaned.

“Yeah,” Jim squeezed out of his numb throat. Spock’s scream will be imprinted in him forever. “Absolutely.”

Jim expected McCoy to ask about the pendant again – but it seemed he had other concerns to mull over.

“You know what’s the worst thing here,” McCoy said heavily. “The fact that all of this has been thrown out in the internet with no context.”

Jim groaned and hid his face in his hands. Now Enid Whitethorn’s questions made sense.

***

Their next meeting with Regail was scheduled on the day after the visit to the archive; Jim suspected it was done to allow him to think the recordings over, although he could feel nothing more than increasing sickness and desire to find a way to enter the parallel universe and make the other James Kirk pay for hurting his crew. They were lucky they came out of this with minimal damage: Jim couldn’t phantom what the other Kirk – or anyone else really – would be capable of with the fully functional Tantalus Field.

Regail warned him they were going to have a ‘special guest’ – wary, Jim expected them to be a host of one of the reality shows Regail threatened him with – but nothing prepared him for seeing Number Two on his current list of the most despicable people: Enid Whitethorn herself in all her tasteless glory.

Her back was unnaturally straight as if she was using a chair for the first time, and this time she was wearing three dresses, one on top of the other, each made from a different glittery fabric. There was a bowtie in her fluffy hair and elastic hair bands instead of rings. The galaxy-like choker necklace was the only thing Jim recognized from their earlier encounter. With such an image seemingly filling the entire room, Jim didn’t even notice Regail at first.

“Mr. Kirk!” Regail smiled the moment he entered the office. Jim gestured at Enid wordlessly.

“This is Enid,” Regail replied, “Now, don’t panic – I know you may be biased against her, and for a good reason, but we do need a journalist, and I thought what could be better than making our opponent into an ally? I assure you, together we’ll form a team that’ll make this campaign a success, because we’re the best at what we do!” Regail reached out to Enid. “High-five!”

Jim raised both eyebrows – there couldn’t be a worse choice for an journalist.

Enid looked at Regail as if he’s just suggested doing a cartwheel and scooched away on her chair.

Now Jim was able to examine her in great detail; a possibility he regretted almost instantly.

Enid’s eyes were unnerving. Unnaturally bright yellow, burying into Jim, watching his every move; there was something hypnotic about Enid’s appearance that made him focus not on her words, but on the liberal amount of purple eyeshadow covering her eyelids and the way it clashed with neon green earrings. He wondered briefly if she was a half-blood trying to get in touch with her human heritage: he sometimes saw this over-the-top behaviour in people trying to adapt to a new culture.

Jim blinked and forced himself to look at her blank face.

“I thought you hated me,” he noted.

Enid shrugged without moving her gaze. She didn’t even blink once. “I was merely offering an alternative opinion. I am a journalist, James,” she continued when Jim didn’t cease drilling a hole in her with his glare. “I write only what I’m asked to write.”

And now he noticed her voice: oh, her voice was the creepiest. Absolutely blank like her eyes, as if someone mixed all the voices in the world and approximated it into one, that could belong to literally anybody – but should belong to no one.

“Don’t you have a moral compass you follow?”

“A job is not a place for emotions and personal beliefs,” Enid twisted a curl around her finger. The motion was deliberate as if she was moving underwater. “If it was, I wouldn’t have agreed to Mr. Regail’s well-paid offer to… assist you.”

And even though her coldness could just be exaggerated professionalism, there was something distinctly offputting about her, and Jim’s gut feeling has never failed before.

After years of spewing lies about him, never showing her face like a coward, Jim didn’t believe in her sudden change of mind simply because Regail made a better offer for one bit.

While he was inspecting Enid, she was doing the same for him, scanning him over and pausing at his chest.

“That is a nice pendant,” Enid said, and Jim jerked his hand away from the chain instantly. Dammit, he really should get rid of this habit. “Where did you get it?”

A million alarms went off in his mind instantly.

“Why do you want to know?” He asked carefully.

“Idle curiosity,” Enid touched her choker. “I love jewelry, and I think something like this would go great with my dresses.”

But Jim knew reporters couldn’t have idle curiosity.

“It was a gift from a friend,” he said, hoping to leave an impression that this conversation was over.

“You have good friends, James,” Enid said, hypnotizing the pendant with an intense stare; at least she didn’t bring up this topic again.

When she began talking about the benefits of good publicity and what steps they should take to achieve their goal – clearing Jim’s reputation completely – he felt like he was at the Academy at 7 am again, the tired robotic voice of an instructor reading off their padd ringing in his ears.

“Now, about the article Mr. Regail requested me to make,” she said, finally getting to the actual topic of their meeting after half an hour. Enid sure did love to talk. “We are not touching the subject of the leak – it would be too obvious of a propaganda. It will just be a general neutral piece about your accomplishments – I mean, you must be famous for something other than Halka.”

Enid put on huge reading glasses with blue lenses that obscured her face even more than before. If one looked closer, they could see the lenses being patterned with tiny stars. Funny; Jim thought he was the only one unfortunate enough to be unable to correct his eyesight due to health troubles.

“We need to find a news hook, that is all,” Enid said, while Regail nodded as if her every word was a revelation about the secrets of the universe. “For example, a couple whose wedding was interrupted by the attack on the Yorktown has finally gotten married ten days ago – both of them alive thanks to you – it would make a nice heartwarming story. Or here’s another one: a woman reopens her destroyed handmade jewelry shop as a symbol of a new beginning, all because of brave James Kirk, of course – she supplied engagement rings to that couple, by the way...”

“You seem hyper-focused on weddings.”

“It was my idea!” Regail raised a hand. “I love weddings.”

“Or, if you want to dig deeper,” Enid continued, not paying Regail any attention, “here is a perfect story about Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan bonding with a renowned professor–”

“ _No_ ,” Jim said sharply, and Enid glanced at him in dull surprise. “Let’s leave Vulcans alone.”

Enid shrugged. “Just saying. He does technically _owe_ you his life now after the Romulans’ attack… Oh well, let’s go with the Yorktown stories then. They are fresher in the people’s minds anyway.”

They picked the jewelry shop story in the end, and Enid proceeded to ask him surprisingly adequate questions about what he felt after stopping the attack, what advice he would give to young Starfleet officers who were scared of the responsibility for the civilians’ lives, what measures are taken to ensure less attacks would happen in the future, and so on. Enid continued to type rapidly as they talked; she didn’t even turn on a recording device.

With one final tap on the screen she eyed the padd.

“It is ready for publishing now,” she said.

“Are you not going to edit it?” Jim asked.

“Oh, the draft was already written,” Enid said as if it couldn’t be more obvious. “All I needed from you is a couple of quotes for authenticity; the rest was fixed as we went. As you have been informed before, I am the best in my field. Would you be so kind as to give me an inspirational speech to finish the article with?” Her fingers were already hovering over the screen.

Jim hummed.

“I don’t think ‘hmm’ would inspire anyone,” she raised an eyebrow. Jim gave her a dirty look.

“Are you certain this article will help with the Halka situation? We didn’t even mention it once.”

“We have to stay neutral for now,” Enid cocked her head to the side. “Although I do wonder, off the record: what is your opinion on Halka? You are a part of the voting committee, are you not?”

Jim sat up straighter, as Regail eyed him curiously. “How do you know this?”

“Noblesse oblige,” she shrugged with both hands. “I deduced it: after all, even if they don’t trust you, the Admiralty would not simply leave the only person knowledgeable about the incident out of deciding that miserable planet’s fate. So what is your opinion? Should Halka be destroyed or kept the way it is?”

“I would prefer to keep my opinion undisclosed.”

“Which is good, keep being undisclosed as much as you can,” Regail piped in with a reminder, miming zipping his mouth shut. Enid still seemed to pretend he didn’t exist, which made Jim wonder what sort of relationship they had.

“Personally, I would vote for the planet’s destruction,” Enid said, and Jim muttered, “Of course you would.”

“I know it might be seen as cynical on the outside, but in reality this would be a much better outcome. For instance, it would automatically cut known risks to a minimum – something,” she tapped her padd, “you said Starfleet wants to accomplish for the safety of the community literal minutes ago. Is that double standards I sense, James?...” She smiled slowly, deliberately; like a robot who’s just been programmed to do it and wasn’t tested yet. Once again, Jim found himself strangely mesmerized by her unnatural movements.

And there was this ‘James’ too. The only one who called him that was his mother when she was angry – well, her, and Marlena from the parallel universe.

In the end, when it was nearing seven in the evening, Jim told her to write an inspiring quote herself, since she spent so much time studying him, to which she only smiled, undeterred by the jab. Apparently deciding she couldn’t squeeze anything else out of him, Enid gathered her padds, called him James one more time, and with a stiff nod and a promise to inform them as soon as the article is published left the office.

The moment her steps faded away Jim chanced to ask Regail the question that’s been bothering him.

“Is Enid... not human?”

Regail’s stilled and turned around slowly with both eyebrows disappearing in his bangs and burst out laughing. “What? Who gave you that idea?”

Jim shifted, uncomfortable. “It’s the way she acts, like an android sometimes.”

Regail breathed out a laugh. “She’s been completely human for the time I knew her. So unless there’s a secret she’s hiding from us...” He shook his head at the ridiculousness of the idea. “Alright, Mr. Kirk, I’ll see you next Monday,” with a polite wave, he left as well.

Jim fiddled with his communicator, flipping it open and closed a couple of times, staring at Spock’s name. He knew Spock wouldn’t reply to his message apart from a short “I see”, but still, he couldn’t help but check the chat.

He sighed and scrolled his contact list a little higher to find another name there.

A moment – and the communicator was picked up on the other end.

“Hi, Captain, you’re in speakerphone,” Scotty’s voice came.

“Hello, Jim,” Uhura’s voice rang immediately, and Jaylah’s added, “James T.”

Jim was glad to hear them all together and apparently happy, judging by the chipper tones and heavy metal playing in the background.

“What are you up to?”

“Oh, nothing much,” Scotty said off-handedly in a way that usually made Jim want to run to Engineering with a couple of fire extinguishers. “Disassembling a quasar cannon, thinking how long it will take for it to blow up.”

For a second, Jim’s hand wanted to reach for an extinguisher reflexively, until he heard Uhura’s quiet laugh.

“Montgomery Scotty is engaging in a prank,” Jaylah said.

“Usually when someone is pranking someone they don’t verbalize it,” Uhura noted.

“I was simply worried that James’s reaction might be as overboard as if he were aboard the Enterprise, which would make him forget the real reason for his call.”

Jim snorted. “I ordered the sprinkles in Engineering on _once_ , are you always going to remind me of this?”

Scotty laughed. “In any case, as an ancient Scottish proverb goes, there’s a grain of truth in every joke–”

“I doubt that’s it’s Scottish...” Uhura murmured.

“–so if you don’t wanna see me blow something up or real I’d appreciate it if you found us a job – any job would do at this point, to be honest.”

Jim smiled. “That’s why I’m calling. I have an unusual task for you... Not entirely legal–”

“We’re in,” Jaylah said.

“Can you check Enid Whitethorn’s files? Where she came from, when she started publishing, all that?”

“Sure, we’ll try,” came the immediate response, although he could hear hesitance in Scotty’s voice.

“But she is not a Starfleet officer, we won’t have access to that many files,” Uhura said thoughtfully.

“I will appreciate any bit of information you can dig up.”

“Why are you asking?”

Jim paused, remembering the yellow eyes directed at him like the spotlights from the cops’ hovercars – an image from childhood embroidered on his subconscious.

“She knows too much,” he said.

“She is a journalist,” Uhura noted sadly. “She’s probably revealed only the tiniest part of what she really knows.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of,” Jim sighed.

***

It was five days till Spock’s trial, and Jim was growing restless with each passing hour. Annoying McCoy was an effective distraction, but he didn’t want to busy his friend too much, not when he had an onslaught of daily messages from Jocelyn to deal with, whose favourite pastime was apparently watching the recordings and convincing herself that the story about the parallel universe was complete and utter bullshit. This gave Jim an extra incentive to go through with Regail’s PR campaign – after all, proving his innocence would help McCoy too; and for now, he went to pester other crewmembers. Scotty and Uhura were the first on the list: talking about the mirror universe was proving to be relaxing, and it was fun watching them teach Jaylah secret student lifehacks – she had to rejoin the Academy as the new semester started and found them most useful. Together, they read Enid’s article; it was surprisingly subtle, published in a sophisticated magazine; so much so that he had to double check the author’s name once he reached the end. Still, he was convinced it was a part of her yet unknown plot. He caught Marlena in the Academy once or twice, but they never progressed past having a coffee on the run, she was always busy with work T’Kari gave her – but she looked happy, and Jim was happy for her too. Then there were Sulu and Ben with Demora, who spent the forced shore leave working in Sulu’s mother’s flower shop – for fun rather than profit, and to keep themselves entertained during the wait. When Jim talked to Ben, it was obvious the latter was anxious, even for a thing as simple as Sulu being a witness in the court. Jim wondered how much Sulu told him and whether Ben has seen the leaked tapes and his husband being shot – and whether he was adamant about Sulu returning to such a dangerous mission. But even if he did, Jim’s never witnessed any arguments.

On one hand, he was glad no one was there to stop _him_ from going back out into space.

On the other, it was something he desperately wanted.

Besides, the person he wanted not only wouldn’t mind going into space, but would take the place by Jim’s side that was his by right.

Absent-mindedly, he ran his fingers over the pots with flowers displayed in Sulu’s shop. His deeply engraved habit of picking the native plantlife to twirl between his fingers and take back to the Enterprise from the planets they explored abandoned him in fear of Sulu biting his head off for touching his precious children. So he simply observed their beauty from afar, admiring vibrant purple violets with their tender petals.

Ben’s voice rang in the distance as the man chattered with the customers, while Sulu and Jim sorted out the new deliveries in the storage room.

“This trial is stupid,” Jim mumbled, putting the pot with violets back on the shelf.

“You can say that again,” Sulu replied fervently. “They play us like puppets, like our opinion doesn’t matter at all.”

Jim was glad to see someone fuming as much as he did, and nodded vigorously; even though they’ve had this conversation about a hundred times it felt good to vent aloud.

“Name one,” Sulu stuck a finger in the air, “just one reason why they couldn’t let you in.”

“Samoilov doesn’t like me.”

Sulu huffed. “To put it lightly. The fact that they target Mr. Spock specifically is so obvious they should’ve been called out on it ages ago.”

Jim shook his head again in agreement; but a tiny treacherous rational part of his brain (the one that sounded like both Spock and McCoy at once and appeared more frequently the more he matured) reminded him that Spock was technically _correct_ when he said those accusations were real.

“Not to mention the fact that usually _both_ acting Captains and First Officers get a beating if they mess up,” Sulu continued. “Why not go after me as well? That’s what bothers me the most, how obvious Samoilov and his posse are being.”

“They must be pretty confident in whatever it is they’re planning,” Jim finished.

Sulu straightened after unpacking the last container and observed the results of their work.

“Let’s take this to the display room,” Sulu gestured at a bunch of gardenias, and Jim grabbed five pots at once to help Sulu arrange them on a glass shelf.

At the counter, Ben was saying goodbye to the last customer. Demora was sitting next to him on the desk, deeply engaged with reading something on a padd – Jim spotted Starfleet insignia in the text – and then suddenly she was frowning and pressing at the screen fruitlessly.

“Daddy,” she exclaimed indignantly, “there’s no connection again, none of my chats are loading!”

“Let me take a look,” Ben took her padd to screw with the settings, and Sulu turned to Jim and frowned.

“That’s just like it was the other day, right?...” he mused, and Jim pulled his communicator out to see that indeed, there was no network detected again.

“It’s been going on and off all day,” Ben said, shaking his head and resorting to an ancient technique of waving the padd in the air, trying to catch imaginary waves.

“Strange, isn’t it,” Jim said, leaning against the glass shelf. “I can’t remember a case like this in years.”

No matter how deep he dug into the communicator software that day in the Academy he couldn’t fix it; it was something global, the transmission tower itself was faulty.

Sulu threw him a stern look, and Jim left the shelf alone immediately.

Demora was still pouting.

“Did you know,” Ben told her, “that our ancestors had to pay for the Internet every month and if they didn’t the network providers just turned it off?”

“Dad, those were Neanderthal times, I don’t wanna live like that!” Demora rolled her eyes and slid off the table. “Fi-i-ine,” she drawled, “I guess I’m gonna practice for my fencing competition then. You should come to Yorktown next January, to watch me win!” She told Jim.

“Do it in the storage room, not here,” Sulu said hastily, pressing the pot with violets closer to his chest.

Demora shivered in an exaggerated fashion. “I’ve learnt my lesson the last time, thank you.”

Sulu laughed, but it was strained; and his smile disappeared the moment Demora turned away to open her training bag and take the epee.

“You wanna see my moves, Jim?” She asked.

“When do I not?” Jim smiled, and he knew his smile was coloured by the same burden of the upcoming trial as Sulu’s.

Demora would be a great officer to go on away missions one day, Jim thought. Even is such a cramped room, she moved with sharp calculated precision that would come in handy fighting the various monsters they’d see; and her ability to calculate the angles and distance within seconds proved she could become a talented helmsman like her father.

Eventually, Sulu took the second epee to act as Demora’s opponent, showing off some of his own moves, as Jim mentally updated his personnel file. If Jim knew fencing he would probably ask to spar with Sulu too – there was too much pent up nervous energy inside that desperately wanted to get out in any form of physical activity, like beating up the accusers at the court martial.

The practice went on, occasionally interrupted by arriving customers, and about a couple of hours later Demora finished with a final traditional bow and started sheathing her epee carefully – and at that very moment her padd buzzed.

The epee was thrown into the bag carelessly as she dived towards the padd, shouting, “It’s a miracle!”

Her voice was drowned in series of insistent chimes from Jim’s own communicator, accompanied by Sulu’s and Ben’s, as the network was restored and they were flooded with all the messages they missed in the past hours.

“Someone’s popular. All of my messages are Hikaru’s mother saying the only acceptable reason for us not to answer her calls is to be dead,” Ben said, as Jim scrolled through the news articles he was subscribed to and several messages from Regail: one containing ‘Three Golden Rules of public behaviour’ and four asking if Jim has read it.

Sulu took his own communicator, lazily scrolling through the messages he was catching up with; and suddenly his eyes widened and he stood up so hastily the communicator nearly flew out of his hand.

“Holy shit!” He exclaimed, momentarily forgetting about Demora, and raised his wide eyes to meet Jim’s confused stare. “Jim, they’ve sent a notification – they changed the date of the court martial – it’s starting today in _half an hour!!_ ”

“WHAT?!”

“Ben—”

Ben was already throwing the car keys at Sulu, who caught them while making an impressive jump over the piles of containers.

Jim was used to making decisions in milliseconds – that’s why he didn’t waste time gaping, and leaped out of the shop before Sulu could finish his sentence, bolting into the hovercar where Sulu joined him a second later, flooring the gas as if their lives depended on it, while Jim’s emotions and _realization_ were catching up with him.

All nervousness from before was wiped out by all-consuming rage.

“They did it on purpose,” Sulu growled as he avoided the traffic with the precision of a racecar driver, gripping the steering wheel so hard Jim was afraid it might crack. “Do you get it?! They _wanted_ us to miss the trial! Not sending a witness a message about the changed time is illegal,” he swirled the car so abruptly Jim smashed against the window, “so they fucked with the network to make it arrive too late – to make _us_ too late!! I don’t know how they did it but they _did it!_ ”

The angry part of Jim’s mind was agreeing furiously – but a stray rational thought whispered its doubts. If someone _truly_ wanted them to miss the trial they would’ve kept the network closed for much longer, not open it to give them just enough time to reach the Starfleet Headquarters.

He was just starting to mull over a theory that this timing could be intentional – but right at that moment they reached the Headquarters, and he nearly crashed into a window when Sulu hit the brakes unexpectedly.

Sulu didn’t bother parking, simply leaving the hovercar on the lot, glancing at the watch.

“Right on time – I have to go through the screening, you—”

“I know a shortcut!” Jim finished, and Sulu nodded, sprinting towards the building, and Jim – who technically wasn’t allowed anywhere near the courtroom – rounded the building to enter from a back door and head to a lift in a less busy part of the building.

Jim slammed a hand against the panel to send the lift to the twentieth floor, but just when the doors were about to close, a hand inserted between them, halting the lift momentarily, and a man squeezed inside.

The lift hummed and began its ascend.

“Admiral,” Jim greeted curtly, tapping his foot impatiently, wishing the lift would go faster; it was important to give Spock one final confidence boost he said he didn’t want, to assure him he will bust into the courtroom and demolish all accusations.

He had a perfect speech prepared, without using even one curse word—

“Mr. Kirk,” Admiral Samoilov inclined his head in response, and added flatly, “How unexpected. I would like to speak to you.”

“Don’t have time right now, Admiral,” Jim snapped.

And then Samoilov’s hand pressed against the panel, stopping the lift.

“What the hell are you doing?! I have to be—”

“–at the court martial you are not allowed to attend, I know,” Samoilov finished, a finger running over the panel to lock the system with his fingerprint. He stepped sideways and covered the panel with his massive two-metre-tall body; darting past him and forcing the lift to move was out of question, so Jim just balled his fists. “That is what I wanted to discuss.”

Jim wasn’t claustrophobic, but being in an enclosed space with a hostile man was… unpleasant, and brought bad memories. Heart was thundering in his chest, and reflexively he shifted in a stance that would allow him to attack if needed.

Samoilov noticed it and raised his hands briefly to indicate peace.

“What?!” Jim spat. The faster they get it over with, the better. Samoilov was probably about to drag the time by mocking or intimidating him some more to convince him not to attend the trial–

“He is going to lose, it is settled,” Samoilov said with calm confidence in the silence of the lift. Jim stared, dread weighing his stomach down. “As the chairman, I am making the final decision, and I have already made it. His career will be shuttered, as well as his dignity as a Vulcan, being found guilty of emotional compromise,” he paused, looking Jim in the eye – and Jim knew what is coming next. The calm and quiet, “You can stop it.”

He knew he was succumbing to blackmail. He knew he was playing the game just the way Samoilov wanted him to. And yet, Jim couldn’t help but ask, “How?”

There wasn’t a price big enough to pay for Spock’s wellbeing.

“I want you to tell me how the Tantalus Field works. It’s either this or watching your First Officer burn.”

There wasn’t a price big enough.

Unless it was saving millions Samoilov could kill using the mirror. An image of the other Kirk with his hands on the console and eyes fixed on the planet above burned in his mind.

“No,” Jim replied firmly. “I won’t tell you anything. I thought everyone knew by now that I’m not the type of man to betray anyone.”

“Are you certain? Well, it that case, you can see him fall right before your eyes,” Samoilov took a communicator, texting someone. “The trial is being held this very moment, and they are waiting for my command; one word to the judge and he’ll be convicted. No going back from that one.”

Samoilov’s finger hovered over the send button – and there it was, the hesitation.

Throwing Spock out of Starfleet, back into the world of unacceptance – Jim couldn’t let it happen. It was his duty as the Captain to protect the crew, duty as a friend to protect Spock.

Besides, Samoilov’s blackmailing technique was absolutely weak; Jim could outplay him with his eyes closed, even with the weight of the forming headache squeezing his temples like a press.

“Wait!” He jerked forward when Samoilov’s finger got dangerously close to the screen; and the lurch in his stomach was real. “I— the thing is, I have no idea how the Field works.”

“Don’t fuck with me, Kirk,” Samoilov scowled, but thankfully lowered the communicator. Jim eyed it warily.

“When I was in that universe I was focused more on how to get back, not on how their inventions work!”

“I know you have the copy of the configuration, Kirk. Don’t take me for a fool,” Samoilov’s voice was low and dangerous, and he rose the communicator again.

“Wait,” Jim repeated – paused – and slowly pulled out the chain of the pendant out of his shirt. Samoilov’s eyes were glued to it instantly, hunger evident.

He was about to do either a brilliantly executed plan or the stupidest thing he’s ever done.

But when has Jim Kirk ever refused to take risks?

He shook his head slightly; the edges of his vision began to blur, as if he’s spent an entire week drinking and now had trouble putting Samoilov in focus. Probably something to do with nerves and lack of proper meals in the past days; Jim stared at Samoilov stubbornly – now wasn’t the time for his health problems.

It would work, Jim thought. After all the pendant only had the copy of the system installed on the Enterprise, not instructions to cutting out the mirror. Unless Samoilov was an absolute genius, which he decidedly wasn’t, he wouldn’t be able to figure anything out from such a small amount of data – and by the time he found a scientist to contact, Jim would’ve already told Spock everything, and together they would go to the HQ to inform them of the treachery.

The chain slipped through Jim’s fingers; he barely resisted the urge to hold on to it, as if the Ambassador’s message was calling out to him.

There was one thing though—

“Aren’t you afraid I’m gonna go and tell everyone about your blackmailing right now?”

Samoilov smiled and placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder – and suddenly Jim couldn’t move.

“No, Mr. Kirk...”

The edges of his vision went completely dark, and Jim stood disoriented, finally realizing it wasn’t _just a headache_ —

Somewhere in the background, Jim heard the doors of the lift swish, the sound drowned by the insistent ringing in his ears, and _felt_ a thousand hands reach out to him from behind—

“Because you won’t remember any of this.”

*

Jim stood in the corridor on the twentieth floor of the HQ building.

For the strangest second, he couldn’t understand how did he get there – but then the explanation came on its own: Sulu drove him there, and they took different lifts—

Jim frowned; something didn’t end up here. But memories were like slippery fish, and he couldn’t grasp a single one; like a dream, the more he thought about it the more blurry it became. His head was full of wool made of dormant, still thoughts.

The passersby were glancing at him curiously, which prompted him to move. He must’ve looked weird to them, standing on his own, staring into the void, cringing uncontrollably at the terrible headache crashing his skull.

By the time he took the third step, he has already forgotten what was bothering him in the first place.

Because a bright flare lit up the wool: he remembered _Spock’s trial._

He sprinted towards the courtroom and reached it in record time, only to see a small chattering crowd already gathered there.

Jim spotted the judge coming out, talking to his assistant with his briefcase closed; a quick glance at the clock told him that it has been _forty minutes_ since the start of the court martial. With a pang in his chest he realized it must’ve already been over.

(Wait, where did he spend those forty minutes? The thought appeared and dissolved into nought the moment he focused on it).

As soon as Sulu spotted him, he whirled around with wide eyes.

“Jim—Where _the hell_ you’ve been?!”

There were Jaylah and Christine Chapel, Uhura with Scotty, both in something pajama-like, obviously pulled out of their homes by the message (Jaylah likely being the one who informed them about the change of time); McCoy would’ve come too, Jim was certain, but apparently with the suddenness of the message no one simply had time to inform him.

And in the midst of them stood Spock. Jim couldn’t gauge anything from his expression – but he knew him well enough to recognize no signs of distress. With premature sense of profound relief that alleviated the forming headache briefly he met Spock’s eyes for a second, and turned to Sulu.

“I was – late?” Jim said, somehow unsure of the explanation himself. Forty minutes? Did arriving with Sulu, going into a turbolift, and then to the courtroom really take that long?

“Late?” Sulu echoed, perplexed. “I drove you here!”

“But I wasn’t allowed in, remember?”

“Like that would’ve stopped you,” Sulu frowned.

“I went down to the cafeteria for some coffee,” Jim shrugged, a memory suddenly coming back. “And I met someone.”

Uhura watched him with a mix of concern and incredulity, and the mix finally transformed into repressed anger. Of course, she had every right to be angry; he has missed her friend’s trial that could very well end his career.

End his career – he’s heard something like this recently, didn’t he?...

Coffee.

He could sense its smell in the air, but it seemed – artificial.

Why?

Who did he drink it with?

He couldn’t even remember his order?...

“White mocha,” he said aloud as soon as the thought appeared. “I’ve ordered white mocha.”

“I’m really happy for you,” Uhura said, eyebrows furrowing, and muttered under her breath, “For someone so hang up about this trial you sure didn’t bother showing up.”

Jim noticed that the furrow held more concern than anger, yet her words sent the guilt gnawing at his insides.

There he was, thinking about coffee, _when Spock’s fate was at stake._

“How was it?” Jim asked hurriedly, turning to Spock.

“I was cleared of all charges,” he replied, and Jim smiled, even though the headache wasn’t allowing him to truly feel relief. Somehow, this didn’t seem like a happy resolution.

Like every time he reacted he wasn’t sure if his reactions were adequate.

“I don’t know much about trials, but it was suspiciously short, if you were to ask me,” Jaylah said. She was wearing cadet uniform, obviously called in right in the middle of a class. “All they did was tell me to retell what happened, then Mr. Sulu, then Chris – and then they banged the little wooden hammer and said Mr. Spock is not guilty.”

“I did tell you it’s all just a farce designed to remind us who’s boss,” Scotty scowled, and glanced at the passing courtroom staff anxiously. “Uh, don’t tell anyone I said that.”

“They had no basis behind their accusations, of course they acquitted Mr. Spock,” Chapel said, and Sulu nodded slowly.

“Why do I get the feeling that’s gonna bite us all in the ass when we least expect it?...” he hummed, brows furrowed. This was too easy and too obviously unnecessary: neither of them seemed to consider this a win.

“I knew they’d clear you,” Jim smiled at Spock anyway.

“Is that why you didn’t bother coming?” Uhura snapped.

Jim knew this feeling perfectly well. He and Uhura were friends, but she was also Spock’s friend – and if Spock wasn’t going to get emotional and rightfully angry at Jim’s stupidity, _someone_ had to do it for him.

Reflexively, Jim’s hand pressed to his chest – and halted over unusual emptiness.

_The pendant!!_

With sinking dread he realized he didn’t know where it went – until he tried to _remember_ , and when he _remembered_ , a memory unfolded on its own: of course, the chain was too weak, snapped, and fell down the recycling chute when he was throwing a coffee cup away.

This was wrong. Jim would never allow this to happen… Except he apparently did.

He was so stupid.

His hand shook as he lowered it and curled into a fist.

“I’m sorry,” he lowered his voice, looking Spock in the eyes, desperately seeking a smidgen of forgiveness. “Spock, I— I’ve lost it. It was an accident.”

Spock’s eyes flicked to Jim’s hand still pressed against his chest, and back to meet Jim’s eyes.

“You… lost it?” There was an uncharacteristic hitch in Spock’s voice, and with a stab of terrible guilt and sorrow Jim realized he only owned it for seventeen days before losing – the pendant Spock entrusted him to take care of, one of the very few things they’ve got left of the Ambassador, especially such a sentimental possession…

Something was wrong here. Faintly, he realized he should be more distort about losing such a precious thing— but it was only a second-long flash of a thought that the unfurling wool covered immediately.

Sulu was watching them with narrowed eyes, and with another spark of realization it occurred to Jim that he knew about the pendant. At least about a part of its contents.

“I’m sorry,” Jim repeated lamely. “I can... get you a new one?”

And then he wanted to slap himself – why the hell did he say that? The message written there was unique, how could _anything_ be considered equal to it?

There was _something_ _else_ about the pendant, something important. But Jim’s head hurt too much to try and remember what it was.

He rubbed his forehead, feeling a familiar tension headache.

“I have plenty of data chips at my disposal, thank you,” Spock said coldly, drawing himself in the full height. His voice dropped the temperature of the room to sub-zero immediately.

“Right,” Jim said. Of course, that’s the answer he should’ve expected – but there should be something to help him fix his mistake. “How about an apology dinner then? Antonio’s, at 2100?”

Spock tilted his head, watching him.

“I must decline,” the answer was, tone not much calmer. Uhura huffed.

Jim thought she was going to be mad at him for a long time – but she caught him after everyone finished discussing every bit of the ridiculous trial and started heading in different directions. She asked lowly, “Jim, is everything okay?”

He didn’t know – but something prompted him to roll his eyes and say, “Everything’s fine, don’t worry. Spock’s okay, that’s what’s important.”

“Who did you have that coffee with?” Her eyes narrowed.

“Enid,” Jim said, because that’s what happened and what he could remember in perfect detail. “Speaking of whom, anything on that research I’ve asked you about?...”

“Nothing yet,” she replied, eyes still narrowed in suspicion.

Of course neither Uhura nor anyone else believed him. He didn’t even believe himself.

That night when he returned to the apartment, lost and with no solid idea about where to go next, he sank on his knees as Spock once showed him, desperately hoping that the ancient Vulcan technique would help him; but the memories were specks of gold in a swirl of thick, smelly mud.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, there are so many things here that will come back in the later chapters... SO MANY.  
> The song Jim was listening to in the beginning is, of course, The Trial - the song that gave the chapter its name. You can't deny it suits Spock' court martial.  
> The memory erasure consequences here was my favourite thing to write, along with all the PR stuff.  
> Anyway, HUGE THANKS to everyone who took time to comment and leave kudos! You have no idea how happy I am to see them!!


	4. The Maze

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art, as well as reality, is all about the interpretation.

For another week nothing of notice happened, except for Regail suddenly dumping a workload on Jim. He dragged him on carefully crafted outings, interviews, talks with random influential citizens (it was unbelievable how one man could have connections with seemingly the entire San Francisco) and other forms of babysitting: so far nothing they did brought any changes, although Regail assured it was just a temporary hiccup.

For some reason Jim was beginning to have troubles sleeping, so despite how wasteful it all seemed, he was actually grateful for the necessary exhaustion daily errands brought.

The day of the trial seemed like a bad dream on its own. Sometimes Jim would wake up covered in sweat and think that nothing happened, and the trial is yet to come – especially on the first night, when his dreams were filled with nothing but glimpses of the lift and the courtroom entrance. 

It was only by the end of the week that his mind cleared enough to get rid of the worst headache he’s ever had.

He hung out with Scotty, Jaylah, and Uhura on the rare occasions he was free; McCoy and Sulu joined when they had time too. Meanwhile, there was radio silence on Spock’s end.

He knew Spock hasn’t forgiven him for losing the pendant yet. Hell, if it was up to Jim, he would  _ never _ forgive himself.

He went to the coffee shop near the Headquarters to search through the recycling, but they told him the chute shredded any object the moment it entered the system, sending it to be reprocessed into raw material; he knew that, of course, but he came anyway. And now the insistent burn of the empty space on his chest was following his every waking moment.

And thus, the day of the art exhibition came with fanfares akin to a promotion ceremony, and Jim put on his dress uniform without a single complaint.

“Events like this don’t serve the purpose of education or aesthetic appreciation,” Regail stuck a know-it-all finger in the air mere seconds after saying hello. Jim had a feeling this previous clients didn’t let him lecture them, so Regail latched on to any chance to talk to some who listened. Sympathetic, Jim allowed him to prattle on; thankfully, he didn’t usually expect a response. “It’s about the right people having an excuse to meet each other and introduce other people to their clique to push their ideas further. That’s politics for you, Captain Kirk.”

Jim hummed dubiously. It was strange to hear advice on politics from a man who’s just been dealing with media while Jim himself had exactly eleven successful first contact missions in his pocket.

“I have also drafted a proposition to Starfleet about changing your dress uniforms,” Regail said, looking him over skeptically the way his mother used to do before sending him off to school. “I’m judging about five people right now,” he gestured at the small crowd of important personas they could see from their vantage point of the exhibition entrance, that included some Starfleet officers as well as a bunch of art people he didn’t know.

“Did our uniforms personally assault you?”

Regail flung up his arms. “Yes! They’re horrible! I mean  _ grey _ ? Come on, even my adopted mother’s funeral was more colourful! Could be because she was a reality TV producer, but whatever. If I ever meet your designer,” his face turned to stone, “I will  _ literally  _ duel them in the ancient way of my people. Now come on,” he ushered Jim forward, and Jim almost had to do an acrobatic trick to dodge his touch.

The exhibition was held in a dome-shaped building constructed specifically for it, and had an entanglement of narrow passages with the paintings hanging in them. The artist met everyone in the entry hall and explained that she has designed the maze in a way to make every passage tell a different episode of a single story; and the ending of the story depended only on the exit the person finds. The entry hall contained paintings depicting a base backstory, from which all the endings were to unfold: it talked about a young woman named Ra’Vi, whose country was engaged in a two thousand year old war. Her worst fear was to fall in love; she, like all of her people, considered it a weakness that would prevent them from winning the war; so much so that it was made illegal. And, as fate would have it, when she joined the army, she couldn’t help it: she fell in love with Colonel Saada, no matter how hard she tried to stop it.

The last time Jim has seen anything resembling actual classic paintings was while on a diplomatic mission on Griol, where the monarch’s room was covered in canvas from the floor to the ceiling, every inch of it painted with intricate detail.

Jim congratulated the artist – a plump Caitian woman with a flowing pink mane – on her idea and talent, receiving a pleased purr in response. Even as a person removed from the art world, he understood single-handedly organizing an exhibition on such a scale – planning the story and creating about a hundred paintings – was an incredible feat to accomplish, and she deserved every bit of attention from the high ranks she was getting.

Once inside the dome, Jim stepped away from his plus one swiftly, hoping in such an array of influential people Regail would be quick to find a new victim to sink his claws into; nodded at Vice Admiral Sato and some of her colleagues whom he was pleasantly surprised to see, and even stopped to exchange a few words with them. He was greeted warmly; Sato has always been on his side, and seemed to have spread the truth about the leaked video to the others present. Now it seemed strange for Regail to pay so much attention to this particular exhibition if there wasn’t anyone whom they needed impress with the goodness of their hearts. Jim turned to glare at Regail, but suddenly couldn’t find him anywhere.

And then, out of the corner of his eye Jim noticed a familiar flash of red – and seeing the person it belonged to was so surprising it took Jim a moment to realize the most complicated hairdo in human history wasn’t a part of some painting.

Rand’s curls and braids dyed in all shades of red and blonde weaved around her head elegantly, and this time were decorated with beautiful violets of the brightest purple colours.

“Good evening, Miss Rand,” Jim said, and she all but leaped in the air at the abruptness of his voice.

“C-Captain,” she stuttered, something she never did, and looked around the room frantically, as if searching for an escape route. “How did you get here?”

“I walked right through that hole in the wall,” he joked, pointing at the door, to put her at ease. It seems sneaking up behind a person who he  _ knew _ has just been through a very traumatic experience was not a good idea. “To be honest, I’m surprised to find  _ you _ here.”

Rand’s eyes flicked to the side again, but she smiled. “Surprised? I just love the art! Especially Caitian, I’ve been a devotee of their culture for a very long time – if you can even be a devotee of a culture? I’m pretty sure that’s not a correct way of saying it, but I can’t think of a better phrasing at the moment, besides, it’s accurate; and to watch the culture I admire being transformed into art, to see the interpretation of the hundred-year-old event through the eyes of a younger person, to talk to a creator who used her personal experiences to bring this story to life is something I’ve always dreamt about--”

She was entering the chattering mode where Jim always has a hard time distinguishing words, especially well she started mixing some Caitian words in – he didn’t even know she spoke the language – that’s why he completely missed the moment when she said, “Be right back!” and flittered away, leaving him to stand next to an empty space.

Jim’s gaze tried to follow her – but she dissolved in the midst of paintings and sparkling attires instantly. And then he forgot about her entirely because another pair came into focus.

He wanted to slap Regail for not telling him  _ Spock _ was there.

Spock was conversing with T’Kari quietly, the other guests parting around them without being prompted. He wore his black robes instead of the grey uniform: he wasn’t here as a Starfleet officer then.

Carefully, Jim approached them, gnawed by curiosity, and heard the snippet of a conversation.

“—only attempting to help,” T’Kari was saying. “I am not trying to replace your mother, Spock.”

“You are stating the obvious,” Spock seemed more interested in the paintings then his conversation partner.

“Then, perhaps, next time you will simply accept my invitation, and I will not have to resort to inviting my bondmate, whilst knowing he will not attend, and having him pass the invitation onto you.”

Interesting: unlike the other Vulcans Jim knew of, T’Kari seemed to be elaborate in her actions, preferring the roundabout way of dealing with things instead of a traditional eads-first direct approach. That must be a price of being a genius; simple solutions just didn’t occur to her.

Jim couldn’t see Spock’s face well from this angle, but because he was with T’Kari, it must’ve been absolutely blank.

But he also knew perfectly well that Spock couldn’t stand thinking about her as his father’s wife, and he needed someone to act as a buffer again.

So he approached, even though the thing he was afraid of the most was seeing hate in Spock’s eyes.

“Good evening, Spock, Ma’am,” Jim greeted, approaching them.

Spock didn’t seem surprised at the slightest to see him there, although he did briefly look like he wanted to ask a million questions – but it was quickly trampled as he regarded Jim with no emotion. Usually Jim would expect to see some subtle warmth that usually appeared when they met somewhere unexpectedly – the kind that assured him his fantasies weren’t completely out of touch with reality – but now he was simply glad there was no disgust. Through mimics, Jim tried to communicate his regret once more; his chest burned with the absence of the pendant.

“I didn’t know you’d be present here,” Jim continued, addressing them both.

“Do you not know I partly funded this exhibition?” T’Kari arched an eyebrow.

“I didn’t know about your interest in Cait’s first contact anniversary indeed,” Jim replied. T’Kari wasn’t the only one who could sass.

“As an individual of science I pride myself on being interested in a multitude of fields, including art,” she gestured at the exhibition gracefully, “and history of the federation. Therefore, my presence is expected, along with others who share a similar view. My husband,” she threw a brief glance at Spock, “was also invited, but he decided to dedicate this time to forming amicable relations with his new – ah, I believe the term is ‘friend’. Winona Kirk.”

Jim nearly spluttered and exchanged shocked glances with Spock, as they often did; and for a moment, it was as if nothing has happened between them, they were still best friends and a perfect command team.

Because Spock  _ didn’t  _ avert his gaze.

T’Kari watching Jim closely, as if looking out for whether his reaction would be positive or negative; so Jim didn’t give her the satisfaction of replying.

"Is there something you are  _ not _ involved in, Ma’am?" He asked instead. "Vulcan reconstruction, the Taahtal-os, and now even the exhibition..."

"I am merely keeping up with the times," she said. "In any case, I should be the one asking this question, Mr. Kirk, you are a far more prominent figure than me; take your heroics, for example. You were also offered to join the Halka voting committee along with a few chosen representatives, whereas I was deprived of being that privileged.”

“I don’t think deciding the fate of a planet should be considered a privilege,” Jim frowned.

T’Kari inclined her head politely. “On that we seem to be of different opinions.”

With a short gesture, she refused the waiter who’s offered her a glass of electric green substance from the tray; must be a traditional Caitian drink. Spock took one, out of pure stubbornness, it seemed, since alcohol-based substances had no influence on Vulcans. To support him, Jim grabbed one too.

The drink was too sweet for his tastes, and Jim mourned all the Romulan booze that was so far away. They should’ve asked Regail to do the catering.

T’Kari seemed to be a good actress; she was watching the exchange with an expression of mild interest, somehow conveying an ability to see through their pretense, disinterest in calling it out, and the fact she was allowing her thought process to show solely for their sake.

She said, “I wonder if you could enlighten me on something, Mr. Kirk. I was just asking Spock about the lady accompa-”

“Professor," Spock interrupted sharply, "may I talk to the Captain in private?”

“I have told you, Spock, to call me T’Kari. We have the same family name now.”

Spock’s blank mask hardened into marble.

“You gotta earn the right to be addressed by the first name with him, isn’t that right, Commander?” Jim said to lighten the situation. It was one his many jokes Spock has gifted him with his almost-smile for in better times.

T’Kari looked at him with the same glint she had during the lecture – that time Jim called it laughing, but now it seemed more like… humorous assessing. It was not an uncomfortable type of scrutiny, but the type a professor uses before accepting your essay that defies your final grade. The professor knows you bullshitted that essay; you know that they know you bullshitted that essay. Yet both of you pretend for the sake of saving face.

It really was a shame; Jim could’ve liked her if she didn’t… intrude.

“Of course I will allow you privacy, if that is what you wish. May I suggest you start your tour with this route,” T’Kari extended an elegant hand towards a joint of multiple passages of the maze. “It contains many exemplary works.”

“Certainly,” Jim said, but as they walked up to the crossroads, he purposefully chose the opposite of what T’Kari offered. He didn’t look back, and yet he could feel T’Kari’s eyes burning a hole in his skull.

In mutual silent agreement, Spock followed him to the path of non-conforming, throwing the glass into a recycling chute on the way. Jim decided to hold on his own just in case.

The story they saw unfolding followed Ra’Vi into the secret service division she attended in hopes of hiding from her beloved and burying the feelings she had for Saada, and the division being sent into the enemy’s territory in search for their weak spot.

Jim examined the paintings, but kept throwing sideway glances on his companion; no maze could compare to Spock in ability to produce mysteries. At the moment, they were the only ones in this part of the maze; the only sound was the ambient melody and shuffling of Spock’s long robes – shapeless, with sleeves long enough to hide his bandaged hands, and yet somehow very flattering at the same time. Just another mystery to add to the list, Jim thought.

After so many days of withdrawal their reunion felt more bright, even though there was a palpable wall between them. Theoretically, Jim could reach out and lay a palm on Spock’s shoulder, could feel the heat of his skin through the layers of robes, he could even get the not-smile in response – but the routine was unable to break the wall. The day of the trial was just another brick to make it higher – and the Halka Incident… maybe wasn’t the first, but it certainly was responsible for several sturdy rows.

He should say something profound.

“So,” Jim began, sipping his overly sweet beverage, “have you noticed Janice’s here? Surprising, right?”

Spock tilted his head up to observe the top of a three-metres tall painting where Ra’Vi recruited a group of soldiers to be her allies.

“Not to me. Miss Rand is my ‘plus one’, I believe the correct term is.”

Jim almost spat out his drink.

“W-what?” He asked, coughing. “Are you kidding me,  _ Rand _ ?”

“What is the cause of your reaction?”

“I don’t know,” Jim made a wild gesture, wiping the drops of green off his jacket, “you’re not even friends, and she’s your subordinate?”

“Yet I find her to be an adequate interlocutor; there are several topics we had to discuss. She is a capable yeoman with qualities that would allow her to become an adept officer, I offered to assist her with forming a plan to be trained to be a navigator. Besides,” his lips thinned, “Mr. Regail is not your friend either, yet you bring him along – unless I was misinformed about the speed of a human friendship’s formation.”

“Wait, how did you learn his name – doesn’t matter,” Jim waved his hand, “it’s different, it’s work.”

“In that case who did you expect me to bring along?”

_ Me. _

“Dunno, Uhura? I mean, she is the one among our friends whose shtick is interest in other cultures.”

“Ah,” for some reason there was an uncomfortable air around Spock, as if he couldn’t think of how to counter this argument. “You see, Miss Rand happens to know Caitian, I assumed this exhibition would be enlightening for her.”

Jim decided not to point out that many crewmembers knew this language, because it meant admitting Spock invited Rand for something other than her knowledge. And even though he should be happy Spock was making a new friend, a possessive part of him regarded friendship with Spock as a chest with precious gems he earned through painstaking labour and now wanted to hoard all to himself. And sometimes he wondered: if that was how he treated  _ friendship _ , how would he react to having something more...

"What was it that T’Kari said about your father and my mom? You think it’s true?" He asked instead.

“Affirmative,” Spock said, quick to change the topic. “During the conversation I had with my father after the dinner he has mentioned your mother’s name in a positive context twice.”

Jim whistled. "Wow. This pretty much means he’s ready to write her into his will,” he paused. “You’ve talked to Sarek?”

“It was his initiative,” Spock replied. “He used Professor T’Kari’s communicator, and obviously I expected to hear her voice when I answered the call.”

Jim breathed out a laugh. “He can be sneaky when he wants to.”

“Indeed. Have you spoken to your mother after the incident?” Spock eyed him with subtle compassion.

“No,” he lowered his voice. “I thought it’s best to avoid her for now – you know why. She’s not Sarek, she will start asking why and how and what happened and how to help…” He smiled feebly. “No wonder they’ve hit it off. Probably were talking about how stupid their kids are all day.”

Spock nodded solemnly. "It is possible they have found common grounds in discussing similar experiences of loss."

Both losing a beloved spouse, both remarrying... Yes, it was no surprise they became somewhat like friends, even though it was a concept Jim had trouble wrapping his head around: those were  _ Winona  _ and  _ Sarek _ , people on the opposite ends of the spectrum. But it should be good for both of them – honestly, Jim couldn’t remember the last time his mother had a friend outside of work.

“Good to know they bonded. The human way,” he explained hastily, ‘I mean, it would be weird to bond the Vulcan way, that’d make us brothers…”

“As individuals who have been serving together for four point six years, we already are what humans consider ‘brothers in arms,’ “ Spock kept that solemn tone that demeaned every joke Jim was trying to make.

He smiled anyway. “Good for us,” and stopped the hand that was going to squeeze Spock’s shoulder just in time.

They passed another junction in the labyrinth, and the story they were witnessing took a dark turn: the protagonists discovered the war was being orchestrated by the underground society of native species with mind-control powers. In order to make peace with the new species they attempted to come to an arrangement, offering them whatever they wanted – and the society wanted Ra’Vi to become one of them, with no chance to ever see her native land again. In a display of integrity, the leader said she could disagree and walk away without any harm inflicted on her. But Ra’Vi realized it might end the horrors pursuing her people, as well as be the only chance to have her life amount to something; so she underwent a wedding ritual that bound her to the leader of the clan for eternity.

Eventually, Rand joined them after finishing her own route, looking like she was bursting to tell them something but barely restrained herself. Probably wanting to shower them in spoilers for the story.

As much as Jim didn’t like his alone time with Spock being disturbed, Rand came here with pure intentions and didn’t deserve to be the target to his testiness, so he said, “Spock tells me you want to be a navigator, Janice,” and Rand’s eyes lit up instantly.

“Oh yes, yes! Mr. Spock asked me if I ever considered becoming an officer, and I thought – why not? I mean, I piloted the Enterprise so smoothly on Halka – although it must be Mr. Sulu’s accomplishment too – I thought, it must be destiny! So now I’ll be going through the condensed navigator course during our upcoming in-between-missions shore leave, and once the second five-year mission begins, I’ll be an ensign maybe!”

Jim nodded along with her long-winded ramble; even though he was disappointed at the prospect of losing the best yeoman on the ship, he was happy to see her career move forward. Besides, they did need a new navigator; after Chekov’s transference they were unable to find anyone as good to replace him. The unexpected reference to the looming end of the mission came as a gut punch though; the five years flew by unnoticed in the fast-paced succession of their adventures.

Together, the three of them finally arrived into a round room where the story came to a close. The paintings showed the end of Ra’Vi’s life as she died in a loveliness relationship with a foreign entity that never attempted to understand her.  Ra’Vi’s end was abrupt and dull, as death often was, and er final thoughts were of the duty that became her only reason to live.  Saada supported her throughout the marriage, expressing happiness for her friend; they never got to see the story from Saada’s point of view, but Jim was certain it was fake. He knew pretense when he saw one.

The room had pathways leading back to the entry hall where they could start the story all over again, as well as a small patio overseeing the courtyard where the sort of an afterparty went on: with lit fountains and even a band that attracted quite a few visitors. Soft music drifted through the air, they could see silhouettes of a couple dancing, their motions somber just like the melody. The visitors didn’t linger on the patio as the obviously enormous effort and money put into organization and a promise of a good company were much more alluring, so Jim seized this chance to have a quiet unobserved moment with Spock and didn’t head to the exit.

...Well, almost unobserved.

Rand seemed dedicated to her role as a plus-one and had no intention of joining the party outside. Jim looked at her out of the corner of his eye, once again wondering what exactly inspired Spock to invite her along. They could’ve found literally any other place to discuss the future of her career, after all. Perhaps, Jim reassured himself, there was a different reason Spock simply  _ couldn’t  _ talk about at the moment. After all, he never took any unnecessary actions.

Emboldened by the thought, Jim turned to Rand fully and smiled.

“It seems like we’ve chosen a rather glum path in this labyrinth,” Jim said. “What about you, Janice, what kind of ending did you get in your speedrun? Do Ra’Vi and Saada find happiness?”

Rand seemed to be waiting for this question for hours.

“In my ending Ra’Vi didn’t go through with the arranged marriage, but neither did she confess her feelings to Saada, and instead of a treaty they attacked the locals, and Saada was murdered in the attack, and Ra’Vi was left completely alone and regretting never taking a chance, blaming herself for being the cause of her beloved’s death,” she spilled out the story instantly, bouncing on her toes. “But that’s nothing, you should see the ending where they  _ do  _ confess, and they don’t find out about the undergrounders, but they are attacked by their own people instead!”

Jim’s eyebrows jumped up. “Wow, does this exhibition have  _ any  _ happy endings?”

“Perhaps the artist merely chose to display the realism of most stories involving strong feelings,” Spock suggested, staring at one of the paintings with a far-off look in his eyes.

“Oh, but that’s pessimistic thinking, Mr. Spock,” Rand gave him a tiny smile and began typing something into her communicator.

“Do you not believe real life can have happy endings?” Jim asked, staring at him intently.

“It is impossible to leave everyone satisfied,” Spock replied. “If someone does, as you say, _‘_ _ get a happy ending’ _ , it most likely means people surrounding them had to sacrifice their goals and ambitions.”

“It isn’t selfish to seek your own happiness,” Jim frowned, countering the point hidden between the lines.

Spock exhaled shortly, something akin to exhaustion flickering in his eyes.

“When I was small,” there was a tiniest pause and the lines around his eyes softened, “I was told a tale – as a child growing up on Earth you might be familiar with it – about several fictional fauna specimen that could communicate in Standard, which was an obvious fictitious element. The protagonist, a bear, was an overly empathic being, and when his cohabitors encountered a storm he was concerned not only about his companions’ well-being but even about inanimate objects that were protecting them. Erroneously, he assumed the objects had a certain amount of sentience and were being hurt under the heavy rain. At first, he covered the roof with an umbrella to protect it, because he was worried about the roof. Now worried about the umbrella, he then covered it with a cloak, but it still left the cloak exposed to the destructing qualities of the rain. In the end, he made a decision: he would not allow the others to suffer when he could prevent it, and used his own body to shield every object and being. I believe this story’s moral, while overly exaggerated and relayed in an implausible scenario, is still relevant. Happiness is not a circle, it is a pyramid which has a foundation everything is built upon. Someone _has_ to be that foundation,” Spock said and then added as if suddenly recollecting who he was, “Of course, it is merely speculation on my part; as a Vulcan, I cannot know what those emotions entail.”

Jim looked at him, despair gnawing him from the inside and ice shooting through his veins. He was absolutely at loss with what to say – what could even  _ be  _ said, what words of support could be enough to fix the damage done by years of conditioning?

On his right, Rand was scrolling through her communicator with a frown, seemingly oblivious to Spock’s words.

“Crap, there isn’t anything about happy endings in the author’s blog,” she muttered. “Well, apart from the fanworks which she encourages.”

“See, just because the creator doesn’t want their story to have a happy ending doesn’t mean you can’t make your own,” Jim addressed them both and looked over Rand’s shoulder to see the text in unintelligible symbols. “I didn’t know you knew Caitian, Janice. It wasn’t in your resume.”

“I’ve learnt it during the mission,” Rand shrugged with a small grin. “And it’s okay that you didn’t know it, everyone thinks I’m a stupid blonde yeoman who pays more attention to her hair than her job.”

Jim frowned, making a mental note about having a word with other yeomen about screwing with their colleague’s self esteem. “I know you are a capable—“

“ _Everyone_ thinks that,” Rand repeated, this time pressing; her smile faded as her gaze bore into Jim’s, as if trying to tell him something.

Spock cleared his throat. “Miss Rand.”

Rand only smiled at Spock brightly, in a way that caused an involuntary sting of irritation, which immediately transformed into guilt. But not fast enough for Rand not to see it.

Jim could almost see the realization sinking into her as her eyes widened and her lips quivered, and she inhaled deeply as if trying to contain her excitement inside.

She waved her communicator, blathering a hundred words per second, “I’ll see you later, Captain, Commander, I think I’m gonna go chat with Miss Rajso and show her the analysis I wrote for my blog about the significance of her work in interplanetary relationship between Earth and Cait,” and before Spock could ask her anything, she disappeared into the courtyard’s murkiness.

Silence hang between them for a few seconds.

Jim drained the remains of the drink he was still holding, coughed, and looked towards the courtyard where a single couple was still swaying to the melancholic tune.

_ ‘Let me take you far away…’  _ The man was crooning, his voice cracking on the last word.

“Do you want to join the party? Talk about art, indulge in free drinks, dance?” Jim asked the first thing that came to mind, shoving his hands into the pockets and rocking on his heels. The refusal was expected, and yet it still stung.

“We cannot be engaging with one another,” Spock replied flatly, staring somewhere over his shoulder.

Jim raised an eyebrow. “...That’s why you seeked me out to talk.”

There were footsteps, and Sato and some of colleagues passed the patio on their way to the courtyard, giving them an odd look on the way.

“Let me rephrase,” Spock said patiently once they were out of hearing range. “We should not engage unprofessionally. Dancing is included in that category.”

“Tell that to the professional dancers,” Jim said for the sake of arguing.

Spock exhaled shortly.

“You know what I mean.”

The light smile slid off Jim’s lips immediately.

“Honestly, Spock? I don’t. It’s like you’ve replaced your vocabulary with ’One Thousand Vague Hints For All Occasions.’ ”

Spock’s voice got a cutting edge immediately.

“I am telling you as much as I can in the current situation. You  _ know  _ that, Jim,” he took a step backwards, and for a single hysterical moment Jim thought he was about to leave; but then he made a small inviting gesture towards the patio and turned on his heel.

It seemed that his ‘first best destiny’ was staring at the back of Spock’s head longingly. 

Of course, destiny was to be followed.

A fountain was rushing in the background, making the air even more humid; tiny water particles landed on their skin, chilling the stuffy evening.

Jim leaned on the railing of the patio, content with being merely an observer. He tried searching for Regail in the party, but he was nowhere to be seen, not when there was another person attracting the most attention: Rand has gathered a small group around herself and Rajso and was telling something exciting judging by the way her arms flailed around.

“Time well spent, don’t you think? I’m glad we ended up here,” Jim said to break the silence, and Spock inclined his head in response. “Hope you didn’t get too bored or confused with all that blatant emotionalism in the story.”

“Not quite. Fear is one of the most understandable emotions, as it is universal in 99% of the species, being tied to survival.”

Jim crossed his arms. “Is that what you think the story was about, fear?”

“Naturally,” Spock inclined his head again. “Although as art relies on both the creation and the interpretation in equal measure, I believe every opinion to be valid. What is your take on the theme of the exhibition?”

“It was about love, obviously. It defined Ra’Vi’s entire life, changed it for better or for worse, depending on the route. Even you have to admit that it’s a powerful force.”

“ I often hear this phrase in relation to what people are capable of doing for the ones they have chosen to protect. Often it results in destruction of everyone involved.”

“To quote Janice, you’re being very pessimistic,” Jim smiled weakly. He had a feeling no matter what he did he wouldn’t be able to cheer Spock up, which pained him to no end. He  _ should  _ be able to do this, it was a duty as important as that of a Starfleet officer.

“In every path we encountered the protagonist’s actions were driven by fear, not love – although I do not deny they were connected,” Spock replied. It was strange to hear the word love out of his mouth, and even though he was very interested in hearing Spock’s thoughts on the matter, a part of Jim wished he’d hear it in different circumstances. “I believe it was a twenty-first century human performer who once said, ’fear drives the mills of modern man.’ I believe this statement holds relevance to this day.”

“You don’t sound terribly disapproving,” Jim noted.

“Someone,” Spock responded quietly, “once told me ‘it’s okay to be scared.’ “

Jim started at the highly unusual use of contractions. Even when Spock was quoting someone, he always made his speech grammatically correct.

“Must’ve been a smart person.”

He looked down at his hands. “Yes. She was.”

Looking at something non-existent in the night sky,  Spock spoke carefully, even nervously.

“My mother…” Spock began, and Jim held his breath; but he shook his head after a pause and started again.  “Everybody expects me to follow a certain pre-assigned path. I have always had two career options: ambassador, like my father, or a teacher, like my mother. I have already been the latter, and with the help of the data provided by my future counterpart now I know which one I was going to take after the end of the five-year mission. It seems my attempt at building a career in Starfleet has merely deferred...” He left the sentence unfinished once more, most unusually.

And Jim wondered if in five long years – or even longer really – Spock has spoken to someone about his troubles. Everyone, even being his friends, tended to take him for granted and to not dig deeper than the obvious disasters he faced, simply accepting them as a part of his personality. And Jim wondered if he himself has contributed to the loneliness he was trying to cure Spock of.

“Destiny implies there is no freedom of choice,” Jim finished, and Spock’s head whipped around.

Of course he recognized his own words.

“Indeed,” he replied quietly.

Jim looked at Spock’s bandaged hands resting on the railing, wanting nothing more than to wrap them in his, to apologize, even though he was not at fault – but as Spock caught the direction of his gaze, he hid them behind his back.

And as Jim stared at the vacated space, suddenly he wished they’d never touched Halka’s surface – a pain worse than toothache shot through him at the thought.

That’s when it hit him full force about how desperate their situation was, how little to no control they had. No wonder Spock grew distant, trying to restore his equilibrium.

Suspended in limbo, airways cut off, movements restricted. Every moment they someone’s shadow was looming over them. The suspension of the mission. The psych eval. The trial – oh, the damn trial that he couldn’t get out of his head, like a nail driven there, nagging, nagging him to  _ look _ – but he couldn’t, the glimpses of clarity disappeared the moment he focused on them.

As if a block prevented him from even thinking about that day.

“What do you want?” The words tumbled out before he could stop them, before he could take control of an edge of desperation colouring them.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “I do not understand your meaning.”

“What do you want, Spock?” Jim repeated, catching and holding his gaze for what felt like an eternity.

If you could just tell me what you needed then I’d give it to you, no questions asked.

Spock looked away.

“My desires are irrelevant.”

Jim wanted to bang his head against the wall.

And the most depressing thing was that they weren’t going to belong to themselves for any foreseeable future. All they had were those stolen moments during public events; but even then they weren’t allowed to unfold.

Technically Jim stopped belonging to himself when he was made Captain.

_ “Do you know why Starfleet has a non-fraternization policy?” _ Pike asked once.

_ “Because crusty old dudes in HQ don’t want us to have fun?” _ Twenty-three year old Jim Kirk answered.

Pike sighed.  _ “Because a starship captain is responsible for hundreds of lives, and therefore must be a Captain first and a person second.” _

Twenty-three year old Jim Kirk just scoffed, thinking Pike’s cynicism was but a product of his age.

Thirty-one year old Jim Kirk had those words engraved on an imaginary metal plate.

“I  _ hate _ Halka,” Jim muttered.

He hated it. Hated it.

The moon shone brightly on the fathomless expanse of the sky, crystal clear like polished black glass, free of pollution and clouds. Far away, a fountain was splashing; he could see it glimmering between the wide leaves on the courtyard’s greenery. Someone laughed at whatever Rand was saying – what a strange, out of place sound.

Jim pressed his shoulder against Spock’s, hoping he would read the compassion he was projecting. There were no words strong enough to express what he felt, but it seemed mute support was all Spock needed. Jim often wondered just how little Spock needed to be content – when he could ask for a whole universe and have every right to do so.

Jim’s alternate universe counterpart was right, in the end.

And that thought was the final nail driven into the coffin of despondency.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As usual, huge thanks to everyone who comment - knowing that someone cares for this fic is very encouraging, I love every single one of you. I would hug you if I could <3
> 
> Another important chapter, mostly because it introduces the fic's theme concept - no, not the wall, but the reversed pyramid.  
> Also, the exhibition in a form of a maze? It became my obsession the moment I created in for this fic.  
> The "21st century performer" Spock quotes is, of course, Roger Waters (because I thought if this fic is read by only five people, I might as well do the self-indulgent thing of putting in a reference).  
> The tale he recalls... It's something I was told as a child, it really struck me; but even though I remembered it in perfect detail, I couldn't find the source no matter how I searched. Maybe my mother created her herself (I doubt it) - in that case, her legacy lives on.  
> Another quote you'll see here is from Holiday - I mentioned it because I think it conveys a very specific mood I wanted this chapter to have. For me, it has always been an immensely sad song. So I REALLY recommend turning it on [[link]](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JvCmg7vSk5Y) while reading - or at least listen to it on its own.  
> Sorry if I missed any mistakes or typos; I was editing this while being really sick, so I wasn't very attentive.
> 
> EDIT: Before I posted this fic, I assumed I would fix the finale depending on the feedback I get - that is, add the necessary exposition, or explanations you'd want to see - so I'd appreciate it if you said what exactly do you like in the story so far and what got you the most interested, or what mystery would you like uncovered the most?...


	5. The Reveal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim ends up being the one to decide Halka's fate, studies the incredible things the mirror is capable of, and we finally learn what really happened after his memories were erased.

“Are you trying to make my life difficult on purpose?!” Regail’s desperately pitched voice reverberated through the office.

In front of Jim was a padd with a title screaming JAMES T. KIRK CONFESSES TO HATING HALKA followed by an immoderately hysterical article with loads of exclamation points and colourful metaphors, but most importantly, a direct quote right from his mouth.

‘That’s not what it looks like,’ he wanted to say, but he wasn’t about to seek Regail’s forgiveness. He had no idea who was listening to him that night on the patio; with the invitations being given to so few people the circle of suspects was very small. Maybe it was one of the committee members who wanted to discredit him before the voting.

Or maybe that’s what they wanted, to make Jim suspect everyone around him.

“You should ask your best friend Enid that, she was the one publishing the article,” Jim tapped the name under the title. That backstabber.

Regail pursed his lips, falling into the office chair with unnecessary flourish. “Enid is – don’t involve her. She simply does what she is commissioned to do.”

So far Jim didn’t see any results of Regail’s work, but then again, it would be strange to expect any visible results to appear within days. Regail has put it simply; the leaked video found such a strong reaction because it tapped in the worst kind of threat: an immediate one. If Jim’s counterpart was caught doing anything else, even firing at a planet – it just wouldn’t be relatable enough. But people saw violence, the kind that could easily be used on them.

Jim decided to appeal to something Regail clearly loved the most.

“Don’t you see that she is ruining your work?”

“She is not the only one!” Unexpectedly, Regail snapped back at him. “You had one job, _one –_ to keep your mouth shut until everything settles and do only what I tell you to – I honestly didn’t think you’d need babysitting.”

“I don’t actually hate-” Jim began, taken aback at the sudden change of tone, and wanting to explain himself anyway, but Regail waved a hand at him.

“It’s none of my business what you hate or love – I only care about how you present yourself.”

He sighed deeply, pinching spot between forehead ridges with a martyr-like face of a man accepting all the burdens of the universe.

“I know it must be difficult for you, you are too used to being in command, I get it. You’re my most complicated case... Well, at least there’s something to put in my resume – and tell to my future grandkids,” his gaze grew far-off, and shook his head, snapping out of the reverie. “Okay, we can spin this thing, no big deal – say the equipment was faulty and didn’t catch your entire phrase, or issue a complaint against Intergalactic, they’ll do anything to paint you in a bad light, and Enid would be intact – yes, exactly, present you as a victim, get some sympathy points!” He tapped a finger against his lips. “We can always get one of my employees – I have some people who would act any role I give them, a random passerby who just happens to love you or a kid you saved from under a car crash yesterday, whatever you want.”

Jim scowled, making sure his distaste towards the idea was obvious. “Smart people wouldn’t fall for that.”

“Smart people is not our target audience,” Regail glanced at Jim with a glint of excitement of a person about to share something he loved, “they’ll figure everything out themselves. That’s the thing, we need to appeal to those who want the papers to do the thinking _for them_. Let’s hope you do something good on that Halka voting, something we can turn into a good headline.”

“Of course,” Jim’s reply was full of sarcasm, but Regail missed it, eyes glued to the padd screen again, muttering something about faulty recording equipment and different interpretations of the word ‘hate.’

Jim didn’t know whether visiting the exhibition was effective or not in the end – maybe, after all, they managed to convince more people than the Intergalactic ruined. He was so caught up in finally talking to Spock he forgot the original reason for his visit.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, a person’s warmth filling up the pit in his chest even for a little while was infinitely better than whatever the afterparty had to offer.

***

_Deciding the fate of a planet isn’t a privilege._

Jim didn’t say it for the sake of arguing with T’Kari – he stood by his words. But at the same time he realized: staying passive meant letting people like Samoilov get their way.

Right on cue, Samoilov cleared his throat and rose from the chair at the head of the table; the chatter among the members of the board of decisions fell silent.

The committee consisted of twenty-one members including xenoculture experts, prominent Starfleet ambassadors with years of peace-making under their belts, Vice Admiral Sato, and, of course, Jim himself.

“In order to make the final decision we must review the known events again,” Samoilov said. “We have all read the reports submitted by the crewmembers involved – even though some of us doubt their truthfulness,” he made a delicate pause to show he was one of those people. “However, one thing is clear: planet Halka is the source of an extremely dangerous mineral with unknown properties – my suggestion is to take samples of the mineral to use in case we discover its beneficial properties, relocate the native inhabitants to a colony, and then destroy Halka completely.”

“Halka is not only the _sole_ residence of the Halkan race, but in their eyes a relic their history is built around,” Sato protested. “You are suggesting wiping out an entire culture.”

“Obviously we will transfer as many culturally significant items as possible to the colony along with the inhabitants,” Samoilov replied. “Yes, their lives are centred around the planet itself, it is the artefact they worship, we all understand that – but on the other hand, what value does Halkan culture _have_?” He made a wide gesture pointing at every committee member at once. “They pride themselves on not contributing anything to the other worlds, their motto is _literally_ waiting until the right thing falls into their hands. Perhaps a crude comparison, but if euthanasia is an acceptable practice on some Federation planets, why are you so resolute about not using its equivalent here?”

Samoilov’s words were met with an approving murmur from the person closest to him, as well as abhorred reactions from the majority; he didn’t acknowledge them, only pulling up an image of a planet in an Alpha sector.

“It’s a verified scheme we used with Vulcan; finding a planet with characteristics identical to Halka was simple, and our team of engineers will be willing to assist with reproducing the cities according to the Halkans’ design.”

Jim glanced at committee to gauge their reactions; now that Samoilov wasn’t using crude analogies some of them were nodding in contemplation. It was glaringly obvious that the Halkans weren’t even informed about this discussion going on.

Jim had to admit some of Samoilov’s points made sense – or they would, if they weren’t all about forcing the Halkans to make another sacrifice.

“What about abiding by the Prime Directive, Admiral?” Jim asked.

“If you see a civilization developing a nuclear bomb that can collapse an entire galaxy will you just sit with your hands folded because the Prime Directive says so?”

“No, and it’s _clearly_ not what I’m trying to say–”

“If you see a threat to all living beings will you just ignore it? If you know an imminent death will befall on someone you care about, like – oh, just an example – your _First Officer_ , will you let it happen because of the Prime Directive?”

Jim narrowed his eyes at him.

“The situations you describe are of completely different nature,” Sato interjected, and Jim was grateful, because he was unsure how long he would be able to listen to Samoilov go on without resorting to insults.

“They deal with the same core principal,” Samoilov replied haughtily, “bias. How can we be certain Mr. Kirk has a clear head when he clearly stated he hates the planet he allegedly tries to defend?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim saw the infamous article of the Intergalactic being open on some of the committee’s members phones.

His fingers dug into the table. “That quote was taken out of context.”

“No matter the context, those were your words. The Halkans don’t like it.”

Jim frowned; there was no way for the Halkans to get a hold on the Intergalactic unless a certain someone gave it to them.

“Despite your personal relationship with the planet,” Sato said heavily, “whatever it is, the committee knows you will make an unbiased decision,” she glared at Samoilov.

The committee members exchanged glances, some skeptical and a _lot_ more worried, and Sato, seeing how opinions were heading in the unfavourable direction, stood up, taking the floor.

She went on a rant, talking about the destruction being seen as an act of violence and how it would be enough to simply protect the planet from intrusion, to which someone brought up a point that Starfleet couldn’t afford throwing all its best defenses at a single planet and it would be a complete waste of manpower, to which another member replied that relocating the Halkans would be just as wasteful…

And Jim pondered how with a simple mention of a shady magazine and an unfortunately very real quote Samoilov managed to swing a lot more votes his way than he could hope for.

Perhaps it was Samoilov who spied on them yesterday; although he wasn’t in the list of the invitees, or Enid somehow managed to get in – perhaps they were working together...

It was Jim’s turn to speak.

“My case will be short,” he said, standing up. “Halkans are not at fault to live on a planet that just happens to form the mirror – they never used it for any criminal purposes. Creating the Tantalus Field was the humans’ fault,” someone muttered _Your fault_ under their breath, “it was our mistake, and we must not make them suffer for it. We should leave Halka untouched and instead of blaming the victims focus on protecting it better.”

That was the final contribution before the decision took place, and thus, after several long hours, the committee voted; Samoilov went first again, voting “for”, then Sato, “against” – one by one the votes piled up, being split evenly, ten against ten, until–

“Well, Mr. Kirk, looks like it’s up to you,” Samoilov peered at him from under bushy grey eyebrows.

The entire committee was staring at Jim expectantly; some hopefully, like Sato, some hatefully, some threatening, trying to make him change his mind.

“Against,” Jim said, and heard Sato exhale in relief quietly, while Samoilov looked at him with narrowed eyes. “Obviously. I have stated my reasons already.”

“Then it’s settled,” Sato said, gazing at him victoriously. “I will make a request to assemble the security party for Halka this instant, put several constitution-class ships in orbit, I’m thinking USS Jemison – Neil, this concerns you…”

Her voice trailed off as the people started pouring out, and just as Jim was about to follow, Samoilov blocked his way out of the room.

Jim stared at him resolutely despite the reflexive sickly gut feeling he got merely looking at Samoilov’s face.

“The decision will be made public,” he said. “And once it is, I will make sure everybody knows who is responsible.”

“Please do,” Jim replied, forcing himself to maintain the eye contact his mind was screaming at him to break. “People deserve to know fairness still exists.”

“You are going to regret this,” Samoilov said gravely. “A young man like you – you haven’t learnt to realize the consequences of your actions yet. This plan sounds noble, but it will fail in the grand scheme of things.”

“Thanks, I’d _love_ to hear what you have to say, but I’d rather devote my time to benefiting people instead of seeking excuses for a misguided action under the disguise of pondering a philosophical question of balance,” Jim scowled.

He honestly thought he was going to be treated as a mature man after all these years, but it seems like people who didn’t know him personally were still stuck with an old image of a brash young man who succeeded simply because he got lucky and had good people to hold his hand. However, no matter how much he mentally screamed at himself not to listen to anything this man says, Samoilov’s words stuck with him. _You are going to regret this._ But the decision was made, and Jim found comfort in knowing he did the right thing.

The first move on the board was made. Now Jim just had to wait for a response from their opponent – and by responding they would have no choice but to reveal themselves.

He sent two messages about the outcome to McCoy and Spock; the former replied with an empathic _“Good for you, Samoilov is a dick,_ ” and the latter simply said, _“I appreciate your willingness to keep me informed about the progress.”_

***

Jim planned to pester Vice Admiral Sato about Spock’s trial some more, but every time he thought about it there seemed to be a little stop sign in his mind that swirled his thoughts away from the topic instantly, and the next moment Jim didn’t even remember what he was so worked up about. The tension headache that was always brewing in the back of his mind has reached critical levels.

 _‘Besides,’_ a strangely clear, rational part of his mind pointed out whenever he got too close to these concerns despite the splitting pain, ‘Spock was cleared. If someone was aiming for a malicious intent they wouldn’t have let this go so easily.’

Sometimes Jim escaped Regail’s hawk eye to visit the Academy in hopes of catching a glimpse of how the analysis of the mirror is going and maybe – if he was particularly lucky – chatting with Spock, who somehow managed to snatch what currently was the sweetest spot for a scientist. It seemed T’Kari’s inclusion in his family brought some good after all, even if Jim hated to admit it.

Technically, he wasn’t allowed on the site; the mirror and the mineral samples were guarded with maximum security: an entire floor of Starfleet research labs was dedicated to studying it. Jim tried to get in multiple times – he felt like he’s earned this – but every time a security guard stopped him with a sincere apologetic “Sorry, Captain Kirk.” In any other situation the guard probably could’ve let him in even without clearance, but now his reputation was dented; no matter how well the security knew him, their instincts required them to be wary.

He could probably find a way of getting around them, but he didn’t want the security to lose their job because of his obsession.

Once, after defeatedly leaving the lab to search for someone else he knew, maybe Marlena to offer her to share some fries, he ran into T’Kari.

He expected some kind of a telling-off, but she only expressed her condolences about the press and noted how mature his decision about Halka was, even though she didn’t agree with the entirety of his points, and asked whether she could be of any assistance.

All of this was too tactful – too _human_ ; the way T’Kari looked at Jim reminded of one of his mother’s better boyfriends who tried to befriend him. None of this was the picture of perfect vulcanity, and Jim wondered whether she did this for his or Spock’s sake. Maybe both.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea with me?” She offered, and Jim shook his head.

“Thank you, I don’t want to impose,” Jim said with as much politeness as he could master.

T’Kari’s impassiveness transformed into something Jim was certain was supposed to be a smile.

“I am afraid I do not take no for an answer.”

And that’s how Jim ended up in her office, a cup of smelly Vulcan tea magically appearing in his hands (did she keep them pre-made or something?...) and he had to resist an urge to cover his nose. The aroma seemed to be specifically designed to repel humans.

“How do you like it?” T’Kari was watching him intently, and Jim recited all three years of Diplomacy classes in his mind to squeeze out a believable smile.

“Great, thank you.”

“It is the original Vulcan blend,” she showed the plain brown box made of a wood-like material. “One of the very few left; I consider myself fortunate to be able to acquire it.”

Jim regarded the box with respect; this was the type of thing that should’ve been present in a museum. Too bad the feeling of being honoured to experience it couldn’t overcome the concoction’s taste.

“Is there a specific reason you wanted to see me?” Jim asked carefully, wrapping his fingers around the pleasant warmth of the cup.

T’Kari sipped her own tea, eyes not unlocking from Jim’s for a moment, as if scanning him from the inside out.

Finally, she said, “I always aim to acquaint myself with the alignment of forces wherever I arrive somewhere new.”

Jim frowned. “You consider me a force?”

T’Kari tapped a finger against her cup once. “Poor wording on my part, I apologize. Perhaps ‘a powerful figure’ would be more accurate, if we equip a chessboard metaphor. You did vote for Halka, and you are a source of unique information about the untapped potential of alternate realities,” she lowered her head to conceal a brief flash of interest in her eyes. “I am certain you can see your own importance and the value you have from the civilians’ viewpoint: you became sort of a mythical figure, Mr. Kirk. Ambassador Spock has talked about you a lot.”

Jim straightened in his seat instantly, paying T’Kari his unyielding attention.

“I wasn’t aware you were close.”

“Of course we were. How else would I be promoted to his position if not by studying all aspects of his work?” T’Kari replied. “Apparently, in the Ambassador’s timeline I was his mentor. Here, he has seeked me out upon his own initiative, perhaps in desire to find a trustworthy figure to work by his side; his conviction was cemented once he learned about my scientific prowess and my other accomplishments. Working alongside him was a highly rewarding experience. I consider this to be a worthier passage of time than being a member of Federation Council.”

“You’re following T’Pau’s steps?” Jim wanted to make a compliment – he always had respect for people who accomplished great things on their own – but T’Kari didn’t seem to react positively.

“The path I take is mine alone,” she answered shortly. “I did not refuse the position – I was _denied_ it because of the crime I committed. The crime of protecting my planet and uncovering the plans of Ri’a’gra,” she added, seeing Jim’s curious stare.

“Excuse me?”

Jim was certain he’s heard that word somewhere, although he had trouble recollecting the details.

“Ri’a’gra, a group of separatists who were planning to use the destruction of Vulcan to lead a riot against the Federation and ultimately push the Vulcan race into becoming a closed society where all interaction with other species would be forbidden,” T’Kari explain, her tone casual as if talking about the newest TV shows.

Jim nodded – now it was coming back to him, of course he has heard about those separatists, even though details were lost to him due to the humans being more concerned about their own disaster and the Vulcans not sharing information about their internal troubles. Now he was listening to the story from the primary source with great interest.

“I have noticed my colleague’s suspicious behavior,”  T’Kari was saying, “and upon discovering their plans I have informed the Vulcan High Command in a timely manner,” she halted – barely there, yet noticeable in the midst of smooth speech. “However, in an attempt to stop them I had to forsake my culture’s principles.”

“What do you mean?”

T’Kari’s face turned to mask. “Murder, Mr. Kirk. The ultimate crime. The blood spilt,” her fingers clenched around the mug. “Ambassador Spock has agreed preserving our society was not a reason to obstruct it, and that was when we started working together to achieve the vision of the future he saw.”

Jim wondered how T’Kari felt about having a younger version of her ex-mentor and an alternate subordinate as her adopted son – and then a realization struck.

“Is that why you married Sarek?”

T’Kari’s eyebrows flew up, and she blinked twice.

“That was an illogical statement even for a human. I have bonded with Sarek because he was an available advantageous prospect for a mate; that is what members of our culture search for when considering bonding. I am pleased to see my son has acquired himself a group of – what is the term you use? – _friends_ with the required qualities he can choose from,” she brushed her hand over the edge of the wooden box. “It is reassuring to know he has acquired himself a secure place on the metaphorical board.”

For a second Jim was confused, because he couldn’t remember hearing about T’Kari having children – but then he realized. And there it was, the real reason T’Kari invited him. The moment their conversation touched Spock, Jim shut all expression of interest down to show there was no way he would play any part in helping T’Kari buy his love.

With a final gulp that was pretty close to shooting through vacuum in nothing but a spacesuit in terms of willpower required, Jim finally finished the tea. The moment he did, T’Kari produced a small kettle out of nowhere.

“Would you like another?”

Jim was convinced we would actually puke if his tongue came in contact with more.

“I am… more of a coffee person, actually,” Jim replied as diplomatically as possible.

T’Kari’s face stilled in a mask.

“You should have informed me about it from the beginning. I have wasted eleven grams of the rarest tea in the universe on a person incapable of appreciating it.”

Jim’s insides froze, and he squirmed.

“Uh… I apologize?” What else could he say.

T’Kari might’ve seen something in his expression because she went as far as lifting the corners of her lips a bit.

“It is I who should be apologizing. It seems my attempt at human humour has been unsuccessful.”

Ah. Humour.

Jim breathed out a hysterical laugh, but didn’t touch the cup again.

“My initial question remains unanswered,” T’Kari said, pouring herself a cup, “how can I be of assistance in the trying times you are currently living through?”

As much as he didn’t want to be a cog in T’Kari’s masterplan of buying Spock’s good graces, he had to admit her connections were useful. Besides, if she had the Ambassador’s trust, this meant he vouched for her… Dammit. Jim really wished he could like her.

So what he asked for wasn’t for himself: it was for Scotty and Uhura. Any job for my Chief Engineer and Chief Communications Officer, he said.

T’Kari nodded in understanding and scrolled through the contacts in her padd, finding a name _Rosa Montero_.

“There is an ongoing investigation on the reason the transmitting tower has stopped functioning eleven days ago,” she said, “they could use an extra pair of hands.”

Jim tensed in anticipation; his hands were itching to do something of substance, he would’ve given anything to be the one to solve this puzzle.

“That investigation is actually closed to the outsiders so I would ask them to be careful with the information, as well as avoid presenting themselves as Starfleet officers. You may withhold the source of the job from your colleagues if that is what you desire; I will not insist on either,” was the last thing T’Kari said.

Still, Jim was left with a strange feeling like he owed her now.

***

The name “transmitting tower” might sound impressive, but in reality it was merely a floor of an office building with most of the space dedicated to accommodating the equipment that provided network coverage for the entire west coast, including interplanetary calls.

Upon arrival, Uhura was greeted by a small team of employees who have already declared the investigation a hopeless case. With computers controlling the majority of the processes, only four people were working there, and all of them have already had time to interrogate and suspect each other, have a catfight to death because of that, hug it out, and finally make up, united by the hopelessness of the situation.

A disruptor was found in the heart of the tower; a suitcase-sized device that when activated cut off any incoming or outcoming signals, effectively erasing all networks covering San Francisco and the suburbs.

Uhura was grateful to Jim for getting her this case, especially for being able to work it with Scotty who was currently in the lab on the ground, ready to receive the data Uhura would squeeze out of the disruptor – being suspended wasn’t fun, and the novelty of being able to wake up at noon to eat replicated eclairs in bed wore off after day one.

“Don’t you have any surveillance tapes?” Uhura asked, flipping through the padds that held all the information relevant to the case, and got awkward shuffling of the feet in reply.

“No one thought we’d need any,” the head technician mumbled. “No one is supposed to be interested in us – I mean, we’re not even a real tower, it’s just a fancy name…” She hid her face in her hands.

“Alright,” Uhura addressed the other three, showing them a photo labelled ‘Robert Tosh’, “but you do have a suspect?”

A boy rose his hand – pale, shaking like a leaf – he looked barely eighteen, and there was absolute terror in his eyes.

“I was the one working that day, but I didn’t see anything, I swear, it wasn’t me!” He exclaimed through trembling lips. Uhura didn’t need a lie detector to read the answers in his body language: the boy was afraid of being accused of a crime he wasn’t responsible for.

The other employees shrugged helplessly.

“His entry codes were the only ones used that day,” another woman stepped forward, “there was no breaking in. However, the Federation Security tested him with the lie detector, and he’s telling the truth, he’s innocent. We suspended him from the job temporarily according to the protocol, but we can’t accuse him of anything without proof... Besides, it isn’t the first time something recorded doesn’t coincide with reality,” she glanced at Uhura pointedly.

Next, Rosa – the head technician – showed her the disruptor they have found in the scene of the crime. It was remotely controlled, and all traces of external contact were erased which made it impossible to find the location of the signal that activated it so far.

Even though it has already been done by technicians and Federation Security, Uhura scanned the disruptor carefully, the tricorder already hooked up to the communicator.

“Scotty, are you receiving this?” Uhura asked.

“Nice and clear,” the voice in the communicator responded. “I’ll see what I can do!”

Rosa glanced at her nervously, unmoved by Uhura’s encouraging smile, fingers shaking as if she signed her death sentence instead of entering the administrator password into the console, while Uhura turned the communicator’s speakerphone on.

“Be careful, miss Uhura,” Rosa whispered, bringing up the charts showing the tower’s energy consumption. “Something strange is going on here. You’d better not ask any questions; Jane did, and where is she now? _Food poisoning_ ,” she whispered with wide eyes. “It’s all connected – we’ve been cursed!”

The girl was obviously confused and terrified, so Uhura said calmly, “I am certain that if we work together-”

“You don’t understand,” she interrupted. “These are some weird, _weird_ things. I think,” her voice dropped, “it’s a ghost of San Francisco.”

Uhura inhaled slowly.

“O-okay,” she replied.

“The ghost of what?”

Rosa jumped and pointed at the communicator, mouth opened in a silent scream.

“That’s just my friend Scotty,” Uhura said calmly. “There is no ghost, just someone trying to sabotage your work.”

Rosa shivered, glancing around the room briskly. Of course she was scared; she was working at an allegedly safest place in San Francisco that suddenly became a centre of attention for a criminal.

“You don’t understand – there are things disappearing and reappearing where they never were, people ending up in places – like Robert...”

“And where were you on the day of the disruption?”

“It was my day off, so I was home, of course, watching the newest episode of The Bachelor – did you know they were considering inviting _James Kirk_ there? – and eating a pepperoni pizza with chili and pickles,” Rosa answered immediately, “that’s just how I like it.”

Uhura’s fingers stilled over the padd – that was a strangely detailed answer. Just like another one she’s heard recently.

“And what about the other employees, do all of them have alibis?”

“Of course!” She wrapped her arms around herself. “Miss Uhura, none of us would _ever_ sabotage the tower, what kind of gain would we even get from it?!”

Uhura looked through Robert’s recorded testimony once more; he gave the same detailed description of his memories like the others... just like Kirk did on the day of the trial. This was definitely forming into a pattern, but at the moment she simply made a note to ask more people about similar symptoms; right now her focus was on another case, and the most important thing she got from here was a confirmed connection between the disruptor and the trial.

And to Uhura’s knowledge, the only thing the disruptor accomplished was making them late for the trial.

“Don’t worry, I may not be a detective, but I will do everything to help you. These weird things,” she began, “when did they start exactly? When was the first time someone ended up somewhere they didn’t remember going?”

Rosa thought for a moment. “Uh, I think about three weeks ago?”

Right after the Enterprise arrived on Earth.

 _No_ , Uhura shook her head to herself, _there was no way anyone on the crew was physically able to organize this in such a short amount of time._

“I don’t really… Remember,” Rosa finished, lost, a flash of pure panic in her eyes – she looked around as if suddenly unsure where she was, and Uhura raised her hand in a placating gesture.

“Why exactly didn’t you involve any of our engineers before?”

Rosa shrugged. “I don’t know – we requested Starfleet to forward us someone, but they said no one is available at the moment, so we just got a Communications intern...”

“I can see the cogs turning in their brilliant minds,” Scotty’s voice cracked in the communicator, “oh, they are Communications officers, so they must know everything about the transmitting tower – I keep telling you, Nyota, that every officer should have a solid grasp on the others’ fields!”

Uhura hummed, tapping a finger against her lips. “Do you remember who you talked to?”

“Uh, well, it was curious actually – I was forwarded to the higher-ups the moment they learnt I’m calling about the tower, and I spoke with someone starting with an S… uh, Samolkov? I think?”

“...Andrew Samoilov?”

Rosa nodded vehemently. “Yes, him!!”

The communicator crackled again: Scotty snapped his fingers.

***

This time it seemed like luck was on Jim’s side.

Because once he got out of the turbolift on the forbidden floor for what he expected to be another fruitless attempt at breaking in, he was met by no other but T’Kari.

Her expression didn’t show anything but the usual controlled pleasantness – Jim got the strangest feeling that she was doing it for him, as if understanding it was hard for him to make conversation with a blank wall.

“You are here to see Spock, I presume,” she said.

It wasn’t a question. Of course there was no use to deny the obvious.

Jim nodded, slightly uncomfortable under the knowing glint in her eyes.

“To be honest, I do not see a reason as to why you should not be allowed in,” she said, swiping her hand like a queen presenting her domain. “Sir,” she addressed the security officer Jim’s befriended after all the time he tried visiting the lab, “please inform everyone that Mr. Kirk is welcomed wherever he wants to go, I am certain the confidential information he will see will not be distributed. Under _my_ responsibility,” she added before the guard could voice a concern. He seemed to be more than happy to have a reason to finally let Jim in; the door swooshed, revealing the sterile white lab.

“Thank you, ma’am,” Jim told T’Kari who stayed still, making it clear she wouldn’t follow him. Even if T’Kari knew too much, even if she was doing all this to get Spock to call her _mother_ , he couldn’t deny knowing her had its perks.

The lab was a lot bigger than the ones on the Enterprise, all clear white with occasional splashes of electric blue and yellow of the holographic screens. Two stations were set in the opposite ends of the room; one of them was vacated, and the other had a figure bent over a container producing dull greenish light. Both the container and the lab coat Spock was wearing over the blank Starfleet uniform were pure white, and Jim’s own dark blue jacket covered in patches felt like a thorn in the flesh.

If Spock was surprised to see Jim enter his sanctuary, it was impossible to see due to the safety visor covering his face. He closed the container carefully, clicked an attachment over his ear that deactivated the visor, and faced Jim with a standard neutral expression.

“Greetings, Captain,” he said levelly. “I was unaware you were allowed entry. What is the reason for your visit?”

“T’Kari has invited me,” Jim shrugged. “I just wanted to check on you- on the research. You found anything new about the mirror?”

Spock flicked an eyebrow briefly on the grammar, but put the container away, focusing his attention solely on Jim in a way that never failed to make him giddy like a lovesick teenager.

“We are still on the first stage of analysing the mineral itself. The process is slowed down by the other work Professor is requested to do.”

“So you two are the only ones involved, huh,” Jim said. “She doesn’t want to include more scientists?”

“Professor T’Kari believes the less people are involved in the research the less risks the mirror is exposed to. I am in agreement. The only other person is Lieutenant Moreau; however, even she does not have any access to the mineral, all she does is chemical analysis Professor occasionally requests from her,” he led Jim to his station and the container where Jim could now see a small cube and a perfect polished sphere of an unmistakable green colour. The computer next to it was continuously modelling new shapes and shooting endless lines of text too fast for Jim to read.

There were many scans on the screens around, among which Jim recognized the radiation level detection and the list of traces of known elements found in the mineral. A huge holographic model of a molecule was rotating slowly in the middle of the lab; underneath it a big chunk of green mineral laid in a glass case – its side was chipped.

“This is the mineral sample we took from Halka surface to experiment on. Here we are attempting to learn if the shape of the mineral has any influence on its properties,” Spock gestured to the container. “You asked if I can share any new information about the mirror: unfortunately, I cannot reply in the affirmative. This material is unlike any mineral the scientific world has encountered, therefore all I can offer on this stage are guesses,” his tone became even more flat to showcase the staple of incompetence he considered them to be. “I do not wish to waste your time with something that may not even be truthful information.”

“Yes, but your guesses usually prove to be absolutely correct, Spock, so fire away,” Jim smiled.

Spock looked somewhat pleased at the compliment, and added an obligatory, “I do not believe setting a fire in the laboratory would be a wise decision.”

He swiped a screen to show the recordings of the mineral’s emissions.

“The mirror is capable of detecting life signs, as displayed by its use in the Tantalus Field. The mirror’s unique configuration makes the detection effortless, but the mineral itself has the same properties, albeit weaker. Not only does it ‘see’ life signs, but it is apparently capable of distinguishing between them and only acknowledges beings of higher sentience.”

“The Tantalus Field did only display the crewmembers, not whatever animals or insects might’ve been on board,” Jim noted.

“This only proves our theory further,” Spock replied with a certain satisfaction, and Jim barely contained a grin at the word ‘our’.

Jim also understood one of the reasons they didn’t want to invite other scientists; not even all Vulcans believed in the existence of a soul (after Spock’s story Jim did some research of his own on the subject), and their doubts would only hinder Spock and T’Kari.

“Furthermore, it exhibits the signs of… predilection for symbiosis. The mineral not only recognizes the life signs but it is drawn to them; initially I assumed it attempted to fuse with the closest universal constant, that is my katra, however, I was proven wrong: the mineral’s reaction was identical to Professor’s presence.”

Jim leaned close to the glass container, getting an eyeful of green light. “Maybe T’Kari is a universal constant too?”

Spock tilted his head, thoughtful. “I cannot deny something I have no proof of nonexistence; however, it seems unlikely.”

“Do you think it could be sentient?” Jim suggested, squinting at the charts.

“It was my initial assumption as well,” Spock shook his head slowly, “however, I highly doubt that. No processes outside a chemical reaction were detected,” he made a short gesture that was his version of uncomfortable fidgeting. “This is where we enter a territory of complete guesses. We do not know what sort of catalyst the mineral requires to complete the reaction, and what the consequences of such a union would be. My hypothesis is that an surge of concentrated radiation equal to approximately 155 million Ci would be needed to align the emissions from the mineral and the katra of a test subject, the kind which would be found at the centre of certain types of planets. However, I am at loss at what such a surge would do to the subject: perhaps an ability to transport their katra through the alternate realities with no limitations?...” He made an aborted shrug. “This is mere speculation.”

“Still, this is incredibly impressive progress,” Jim hoped he sounded as awed as he was, and once again contemplate the sheer luck of having one of the greatest minds of this generation as his First Officer. “Looks like your work with T’Kari is productive.”

“She is a proficient scientist,” Spock replied shortly. “That is her only relevant characteristic.”

Jim decided not to rub it in.

“Where do you keep the mirror?” he asked.

Spock led the way to the thick steel door that opened to his handprint and revealed a grey space with only two points of interest: another door, identical to the first one, and an intimidating bulky woman in red uniform holding a phaser rifle. Two regular phasers were strapped to her belt.

“Miss Cabello,” Spock nodded in greeting, and closed the door again. “Due to security reasons, the mirror is completely inaccessible both physically and visually,” he told Jim.

Jim smiled and stepped back in the pristine lab, locking eyes with Spock. Something magnetic flitted between them – an insistent, irresistible pull.

With no living soul in hearing range, no surveillance, with a conversation that began its flow so effortlessly, this was a perfect time to discuss more important matters. Jim opened his mouth-

-and suddenly his communicator buzzed.

He fumbled in his pocket to pull it out, seeing Scotty’s name on the screen.

“Any news about Enid?” Jim asked the moment he picked it up. Spock watched him out of the corner of his eye with curiosity.

“No,” Scotty replied on the other end, and Jim deflated, “but I’ve got something real weird for you! So Nyota and I, we’ve been doing a wee investigation of our own, since you can’t get under anyone’s radars, and we found something real curious... not ghost-related though.”

“Not sure where this ghost stuff came from, but okay?” Jim said slowly.

“Alright. Yes. So anyway, it’s impossible to triangulate the location of the signal, but: I recognized the _software_ it was coming from, and it’s something that was used in the Burnell class transport ships, which was discontinued five years ago. And considering the signal came from the ground somewhere within a thirty mile radius, either there’s an insane collector keeping an old shuttle in their backyard, or-”

“It came from the ship cemetery,” Jim finished.

That was enough. This was the first piece of information dropped into their hands since the day of the trial that showed their opponent has finally made a move, and whatever scheme they were planning was finally set in motion.

Which meant it was time for their own scheme to be implemented.

“Thank you, Scotty.”

“But I wasn’t done–”

Communicator snapping shut didn’t let him finish, and Jim turned to Spock.

“Spock,” Jim said, surprised at how calm his voice sounded, “where did you say the mirror was?”

Spock caught on to the meaning at once, and without further ado, he strode to the back of the lab and slammed his hand against the scanner, revealing the guard standing by the sealed metal door.

“Did someone enter here?” Jim demanded.

“Open the vault, we have reasons to believe the Taahtal-os mirror has been stolen,” Spock added.

The guard rolled her eyes. “It wasn’t _stolen_. Who do you take me for?”

“Five credits say it was,” Jim said; exhilaration making him briefly forget about the severity of the consequences. The resolution was _right at his fingertips._

“Open the vault, this is an order,” Spock repeated, and the guard obeyed.

She stepped sideways, exposing the laboriously opening door, and Jim knew exactly what they would see revealed: the small vault was glaringly empty.

The guard’s hand slipped off the scanner.

“But…” She looked at them, terrified, and then back at the vault, grasping thin air as though believing the mirror has suddenly become invisible. “I – I swear, I haven’t let anyone in, I didn’t even close my eyes! I didn’t leave my post, you must’ve seen this, Mr. Spock, ask professor T’Kari, you _have_ to believe me!-”

In lieu of replying, Spock pressed his bandaged fingers to the woman’s temple, who seemed too shocked to move.

“She is telling the truth,” Spock said, dropping his hand.

“Or believes she does,” Jim noted.

“Indeed.”

“Can you access her real memories?”

Spock shook his head. “My touch telepathy still does not function properly. This is the most I can do.”

Jim nodded quickly, not willing to let Spock linger on his disability, and they both rushed back to the lab, while the guard called after them, “Do I still owe you five credits, Captain?...”

“Should’ve bet more,” Jim smirked, looking at Spock sideways, “Could’ve been a millionaire.”

Spock glanced at him, both eyebrows raised slightly, and walked straight to the desk to pull out a tricorder-like machine with software similar to the one they used to find the energy signature on Altamid.

“I have finished assembling it this morning,” Spock said. “It was impossible to work quicker under Professor’s observation.”

Jim was by his side instantly, shoulders brushing – a forgivable lapse in the heat of the moment, Spock probably didn’t even notice.

Activated, the screen showed the map of San Francisco, with three dots grouped together, which Jim assumed were the mineral samples belonging to Starfleet, and one on the outskirts of the city: somewhere in the area of the giant shipyard.

And just like that, he and Spock locked eyes, and locked minds, becoming a joint command duo who exchanged thoughts with as little as a look. They left the befuddled guard to call her superiors and rushed towards the underground parking lot, nearly crashing into T’Kari in the doorway, who jerked away with raised hands as if seeing a stampede charging at her. The guard would sure have fun explaining how her most precious experiment went missing.

Spock was about to head for the lift that would take them to the parking lot when Jim grabbed his sleeve.

“My bike is just around the corner.”

Spock stopped dead, eyeing him warily, and Jim could imagine all kinds of protests going on in his logical mind.

“My car is-”

“Really fast, I’m sure, but we’ll waste hours in traffic,” Jim intercepted. “Come on, Spock, time is ticking! I’ll tell you all about the advantages as we ride,” he pulled Spock’s sleeve again. “I’m not a bad driver, I can ride bikes with my eyes closed.”

“I am… aware,” he replied with even more wariness. “However, if we compare the benefits of cars and motorcycles-”

“C’mon,” Jim tugged Spock’s sleeve insistently, taking a determined step backwards, “we can continue this argument while we ride.”

Finally realizing that there was no time to afford (or, perhaps, simply giving in to Jim’s stubborn pulling), Spock followed Jim without another word – an air of suffering acceptance making up to it.

As Jim clapped the handle of his trusty bike, Spock wordlessly turned the tricorder-like device to face him: with an empty space where a green dot once was. They have lost the signal.

“They must’ve masked it,” Jim muttered, clasping the handle tighter – it was impossible to imagine anyone capable of consciously destroying the mirror.

Anyone but people who saw the disaster it caused first-hand.

Jim looked over the map again – being a topographic one, it didn’t display any roads or other useful information, covering the city in obscure shapes with lines of numbers instead of names, and the spot where the dot was just seconds ago was immediately lost to him. The ship cemetery – a shipyard housing old spacecrafts stored in hopes of revival – was gigantic, with hundreds of ways to approach it; they’d waste an eternity on checking all of them...

“Do not be concerned,” Spock said – years ago Jim would’ve assumed he could read his mind, “I have memorized the coordinates.”

“Of course you did,” Jim breathed a laugh, “then let’s not waste another minute,” he tugged Spock’s sleeve again, just because he could.

The Tantalus Field could be used any second – but being terrified was the last thing to cross his mind.

Jim’s very soul was singing with finally getting a taste of so very missed _action_. Only now he was realizing how stale his forced shore leave _truly_ was, with constant interviews, and suspecting glances, and Regail monitoring his every move – and as he pushed the key into ignition, the bike sprung to life, and he could almost laugh with delight.

Just for fun, he floored the gas to maximum to feel Spock’s arms clutch at his waist convulsively, and if his blood was bubbling with happiness before, feeling Spock pressed against his back as they rocketed through the parking lot was pure unrivaled delight.

By the time they reached the street Spock has already overcame his surprise and the bonecrashing grip loosened. But before Jim could mourn it one of Spock’s hands came in front of him with the map and his chin hooked over Jim’s shoulder.

“Turn right on the next intersection.”

This time Jim swirled the bike roughly simply because he wanted to feel Spock surging up against him at the unexpected movement.

“I want you to know I highly disapprove of your methods of driving,” Spock’s voice sounded over his ear. “Turn right again.”

Jim couldn’t keep a huge grin out of his reply as the bike roared, flying through the intersection in the last second and zigzagging between the cars in a traffic jam.

“Duly noted.”

He certainly wouldn’t mind having a personal GPS navigator like this on hand at all times.

They’ve arrived to the shipyard too soon, and as much as Jim hated losing Spock’s embrace he knew they had another mission now. Maybe he could convince Spock to go for a ride later, after they come out as heroes once more – after they’re both safe, and no moronic trial would ever threaten Spock again.

The shipyard’s sizes were intimidating; shuttles of all sizes were towering over them, old and frail, some looking terribly worn like a barest gust of wind could knock them right on top of their heads. Some were stored here to be disassembled for parts, some in hopes of restoration; the others were probably kept for sentimental reasons of their owners.

There were no employees in sight, not a single sound; but the weirdest part was a brand-new dome that stuck out like a sore thumb among the dead ships.

Jim killed the ignition, suddenly becoming aware of how blaring the engine sounded in the barren silence of the cemetery, and pointed at the dome in a silent question.

“The Jellyfish is under construction here,” Spock replied quietly, and Jim shrugged to himself; deciding to build a ship on the ground was unconventional but perhaps more suitable to a team consisting of a single person.

Spock has already climbed off, fiddling with the tricorder’s settings and finally pointing at one of the ships: a Burnell class sitting on top of two other shuttles.

Nodding, Jim crawled up a rusty ramp towards the entrance in the lowest deck: every shuttle had one for emergencies, when the transporter wasn’t available. He pushed the entrance open to a mutual silent agreement, and they stepped into the darkness, finally realizing how phaser-less their hands were.

This was the first time Jim was on a truly empty starship: even when he visited the Enterprise while the majority of the crew was on shore leave, there were technicians doing maintenance works, steady lights, and the subtle hum of massive energy under his feet. But this one was truly dead, only the red emergency lights illuminated the corridors. Some signs of the others’ presence were there, like the wiring hanging off bulkheads clearly torn off by hand, or random forgotten equipment they didn’t have time to clear up. The moment they entered it became obvious that this ship wasn’t a randomly chosen location: it has been a hideout for quite some time.

Jim looked over the surveillance cameras quickly; they seemed to be as non functioning as everything else, but that didn’t mean their opponent had no opportunity to observe them. Two words: Tantalus Field.

Spock lingered just a moment longer to examine the shredded bulkhead – and that was their undoing, because the next moment a wave of deafening noise rolled through the ship as a giant metal door slammed down, splitting the corridor in two and effectively trapping them on different sides.

Jim jumped at the sound, swirling around, and shouted “Spock!!”, even though it was clear the thick door (used in emergencies to stop the depressurization) wouldn’t let any sound through.

He slammed a fist against the barrier, tearing the skin – and his communicator buzzed the next moment.

“Captain,” to Jim’s relief, Spock’s muffled voice rustled in the speaker. “It seems we are being watched.”

The line was crackling, probably messed up by whatever emissions were masking the mirror’s wavelength.

“Yeah, no shit,” Jim replied, squinting at the cameras again; they stared back with lifeless blank lenses. “No problem, we’ll just go up the d--”

He was interrupted by a heavy sound on the upper deck.

“There is a ninety-nine percent probability that it was a door cutting the escape route off,” Spock said matter-of-factly.

“And what is the one percent?”

“A metal door-shaped object hitting the floor.”

Despite the tension, Jim chuckled.

“Alright, seems like we have no choice but to split up. Just be careful. And keep your communicator on hand.”

“There is no protection against the Tantalus Field, therefore your words are illogical,” Spock paused and added quietly, “you too. And save the charge on your communicator,” with this, the conversation was over.

Jim looked at the display and swore – it was at mere 10%. The lack of a weapon was also glaringly obvious, not that any phaser would save him from the activated Tantalus Field (he suppressed a shiver at the thought). Still, he needed something to fill the emptiness in his hand to feel secure, and if it couldn’t be Spock’s hand – he looked around the debris – this crowbar would have to do. Jim looked up, visualizing the ship’s schematics; all decks must’ve been cut off by now. The message couldn’t be clearer.

Jim clenched the crowbar tighter and moved further down the corridor, kicking a roll of duct tape on the way.

He entertained a brief thought of sending McCoy or Uhura a message – but they would say something rational, like “wait for backup”, and _this_ was something Jim wanted to do with Spock and only Spock, and he was too exhilarated with _finally participating in something_ to allow even a friendly distraction. Besides, he had an excuse; he had to save the remaining 10% of the charge: the running background app needed every bit of it.

There was no noise apart from his breathing in a pitch blackness – dense with gooey silence, so unlike the welcoming darkness of deep space. Occasionally he lit up the communicator to note the turns he took and the segments of the ship he passed, always wary of wasting too much. In a way, the ship reminded him of an Academy training simulator scenario where they had to rescue a crew of an ambushed civilian shuttle that was completely out of power; although this time there was no instructor to call it quits.

Jim stepped into a Jefferies tube – and jerked at the sudden sound piercing the darkness; the buzz of the communicator might as well be a gunshot.

“Captain,” Spock’s crackling voice said calmly once Jim managed to grab the communicator that almost slipped out, “I am calling to inform you that I was examining the damaged bulkheads, and I have discovered wiring that is foreign to the ship’s original design. I admit that my knowledge of this starship class is not extensive, however, there is a 97% chance of this construction being a part of a remotely controlled set of explosives.”

Jim halted, fear flashing like an icy dagger.

“A _what_?! Shit, are you okay?”

There was a pause. “Obviously, since I am talking to you, it has not detonated yet. And there is no other way an inactive explosive could injure me.”

Jim climbed out the tube with a grunt and squinted to find the closest smashed bulkhead – and sure enough, once he ripped the remaining pieces of plastic off the communicator illuminated a thick batch of twisted wires. He tugged it, and the plastic cracked, revealing the wires going in the opposite directions, following the curve of the corridor and apparently having no intention of ending. They must cover the entire ship; with no visible origin source it was impossible to disable them completely.

“Alright, alright,” Jim worried his lower lip. “We could try defusing it together–”

“This will not be necessary. If my estimation is correct, you must be close to the bridge, where the mirror most likely is installed. Neutralizing it is our priority,” he paused. “You do remember that we have taken the same survival courses – I know how to treat an explosive.”

Jim sighed. Of course it was the logical thing to do – Tantalus Field posed a much bigger threat than a mere bomb.

Even though it was controlled remotely and could blow up any second.

And Spock was right next to it.

“Forget the bomb, just get as far away from it as possible,” he commanded, and beneath the cracking communicator he imagined he could hear Spock sigh.

However, thankfully he couldn’t disobey a direct order; his only reply was, “Yes, Captain,” and the line went dead. With a final disgusted glance at the bulkhead, he clipped one of the wires and quickened his pace; even though this ship’s outline was different, Starfleet’s designs had enough similar elements to point out the way to the bridge.

The entrance to the bridge was by far the worst. The entire space was torn apart as if the toughest duel was carried out here; no surface was untouched, a disarray of instruments was conglomerated here – a soundless drill, a laser burner, some spanners and screwdrivers, everything one would need to discreetly prepare for the instalment of the Taahtal-os.

The touchpad gleamed from the darkness invitingly – and when Jim pressed a hand to slide the doors open, he felt like being transported into the surveillance footage of the Enterprise not so long ago.

The cramped space was slashed with strobes of daylight streaming from partially obscured windows, a terrible mess of wiring and equipment covered every inch of horizontal surfaces, the clutter obscured half of the broken machinery originally installed on the ship – and every detail was saturated with green.

The mirror poured eerie light over the darkest corners, installed in the centre of the bridge like a deity to be worshipped, alive and already connected to the black screen where a blue cursor was blinking, awaiting its command.

This was a familiar territory.

Jim hurried towards it, paging Spock and entering quick commands to check if the system was fully functioning. The history of operations showed that no one was killed... so far. Jim took a deep breath of still air, his head hung between his slumped shoulders in relief; this time they got lucky. No innocent lives were lost because of him.

“I am experiencing some difficulties getting to the bridge,” Spock said the moment he picked up. There was a muffled crash on his end. “The emergency barriers were lowered to obstruct my course.”

“I’ve found the mirror,” Jim said in reply.

“I am pleased to hear that,” Spock’s voice rustled on the other end, “and I entrust you with its destruction.”

Jim nodded, even though Spock wouldn’t be able to see it; it didn’t matter, they never discussed what must be done with the mirror, but they were on the same frequency anyway. Of course Spock fully supported the destruction of the mirror – and it was all Jim needed.

His fingers touched the keyboard again; and that’s when a shadow fell across the dusty screen, slicing the natural light.

“You are very experienced operating that system,” a voice said, and Jim turned around, crowbar ready, to stare in the eyes of the man he knew he will be seeing: Samoilov, in dark civilian clothes, covered in a ton of equipment, including a tool kit on his belt, headphones, a padd that presumably allowed him to control the ship, and a visor barely concealing his eyes and eyebrows, raised as Samoilov waited for a reply.

And on his chest, in plain sight, the pendant was proudly displayed.

Jim felt relief; even though he was completely certain in his plan, a tiny voice of doubt kept asking what if he was _wrong_ in the end? What if he led Spock into a trap? What if his memories were maimed beyond recovery?...

“What?” Jim asked, muscles tensing in preparation for an attack. “If you wait for me to gasp in shock, don’t; I knew it was you all along.”

“You suspected me, that’s all,” Samoilov said.

Something about Samoilov’s behaviour just didn’t seem right. Jim waited for a blow, subtly lowering himself in a stance – but there was nothing to parry.

The man went to such lengths to get the mirror, and now he stood there nonchalantly, not raising a phaser, not seeming to take anything seriously… Unless, like Sulu mentioned before, Samoilov was so confident in his success he had no reason to worry.

“You were the one to disable the transmission tower, weren’t you,” Jim said to confirm his suspicions further.

Samoilov thought for a moment and nodded. “Yes; and it worked perfectly, you fell right into my hands.”

“And you were the one who leaked the video,” Jim said, receiving another nod in reply. “Why?”

He shrugged, this time pausing just a bit longer before replying. “Several reasons. To swing the votes in the committee my way, to make your life miserable... Take as pick. Amazing how much you can do under people’s noses without anyone noticing.”

“Did you hope no one would ever figure you out? Sure, your authority could throw dust in the majority’s eyes for a while, but eventually–”

“Eventually,” Samoilov interrupted, “it would simply be too late.”

“Because you would kill everyone?”

Samoilov shrugged again. “Maybe. I don’t really care. Sometimes you’re just allowed not to care about the consequences,” he scowled, glancing sideways, as if listening to a sound Jim couldn’t hear. “So you can accuse me of whatever you want really. Doesn’t matter.”

But Samoilov wasn’t the only one with an ace up his sleeve.

Jim smiled.

“You don’t understand what I mean when I say I _knew_ you were the one planning to steal Taahtal-os – I knew this from the day of the court martial.”

Samoilov’s hand flew up to his ear to deactivate the visor that revealed his widened eyes.

“What do you mean, _day of the court martial_ ; you couldn’t possibly-”

“It was pretty obvious,” Jim smiled wider, watching Samoilov finally losing all confidence. “After all, you took the pendant with the Tantalus Field configuration. Don’t you remember, when we talked in the turbolift? That’s why you wanted me to be late, didn’t you; so I could take a shortcut where you would catch me with whatever memory erasing tool you had. Good times.”

Samoilov’s eyes boggled, and he looked like he desperately wanted to say something, but couldn’t – but the moment passed, and the next thing he knew Samoilov was hissing, “Impossible!”

“Why?” Jim asked calmly, enjoying suddenly having the upper hand. “Because of your mind trick?”

“I erased your memory!” There was a tiniest pause again. “How could you retain it?”

“You _thought_ you erased it – and to be fair, you did, for a day or two. You see, I have a huge advantage: I am friends with a telepath. We foresaw all of this,” he smiled. “Well, almost all.”

*

_Nineteen days ago_

The thick blanket of warm night and ambient city noise covered the silent gardens where Jim and Spock were, right after the disastrous dinner with their parents at Antonio’s.

Finally, Spock said, “Captain, I have a proposition.”

Jim grinned. “Are you reading my mind, Spock? Because I have one as well.”

Spock made a gesture inviting him to start first, and Jim jumped the opportunity, a brilliant idea already formed in his mind.

“I think we both can agree that we are being watched – by reporters, but most importantly, by someone who is trying to possess the mirror,” Spock nodded, and Jim continued, “well, let them think we’re complete idiots falling for their schemes! We gotta find a way to communicate without anyone realizing it,” despite the gardens being empty, he dropped his voice nonetheless. “We need a code phrase, something inconspicuous, like…” He suggested the first thing that came to mind. “If something’s wrong, I invite you to Antonio’s for dinner. If I say 2100 hours, it will just be a warning to keep your eyes peeled for trouble. If I say 2000 hours, we really met there.”

Spock nodded slowly. “I am in agreement.”

“That’s it? No additions?”

“No, your plan is thought-out and detailed.”

On the inside, Jim was all puffed up like a pigeon from the praise. “So, what’s your idea?”

Spock’s expression became even more serious.

“We need to protect your mind, as it is your weak spot.”

“Are you saying I’m stupid?” He meant it as a joke, but some self-deprecation snuck into his tone anyway.

“I am saying,” Spock replied patiently, “that you are not a telepath, and therefore can have no protection against an unwanted attack,” he looked at Jim pointedly, as if to remind him about the parallel universe Spock. Jim wondered whether it was Uhura who told him about what happened or if he simply read a report.

He also wondered if Spock felt responsible for his counterpart’s actions like Jim did.

“Are we going to meld?” Jim admitted to being hopeful; having a proper, uninterrupted meld with his Spock was becoming a sort of fixation for him lately.

“I cannot perform melding at the moment,” Spock raised his bandaged hands. “My telepathy is restricted due to the injury.”

There was a stab of guilt again; being a Vulcan was so important for Spock, and Jim – his counterpart – took it away from him…

“Sorry,” he muttered a long-overdue apology.

“There is no fault of yours,” Spock said softly and brushed his fingers over Jim’s forearm, as if _Jim_ was the one who needed support, although that did nothing to calm the guilt. He wondered if that was the reason Sarek looked at him with such unVulcan hate. “We can use this to our advantage: the enemy assumes I will not be able to perform any kind of connection in this state, however, even though I cannot strengthen your mind with my own, I can teach you the mediation techniques to allow you to do this on your own. Nevertheless, some examination is in place first. If you will allow me-” Spock bared his wrist and looked at Jim questioningly. Not entirely understanding what was going on, Jim nodded hastily anyway, because this promised _contact_.

“While most of the nerves responsible for telepathy are concentrated in our hands,” Spock continued, voice taking on a lecturing tone, “any type of skin contact allows shallow telepathy,” his wrist hovered next to Jim’s cheek. “Close your eyes and count to a hundred visualizing every number, please.”

Jim complied, mostly because if he didn’t, his thoughts would inevitably spring into something inappropriate. The moment he did, hot skin pressed against his cheek – and yeah, it was very hard to concentrate when he could feel Spock’s pulse hammering through the thin skin. It was nothing like the melds he’s already experienced, he didn’t feel anything particularly intrusive in his mind, only the warmth of the skin pressed against his, and something feather-like trickling inside that made him crave more. Thankfully, he had enough autonomy to keep that craving under wraps.

With an incredible force of will (honestly, he should be given a medal) he resisted turning and pressing his lips against Spock’s wrist.

When he counted to eighty-two, Spock withdrew.

“I haven’t reached hundred yet,” Jim warned and got an eyebrow in reply.

“The point of this request was only to stop your thoughts from interfering with my examination and me accidentally invading your privacy. I have assessed the most beneficial techniques you can use, and furthermore,” he fished out something out of his pocket, “if you have no objections, I would like you to wear this.”

Spock’s fist unrolled, and Jim saw a pea-sized piece of the green semi-transparent mineral he immediately recognized as native to Halka.

“Why?” He rolled the tiny piece between his fingers. Even though he knew this stone was incapable of transporting him anywhere, he couldn’t help but be apprehensive towards it.

“Do you remember Nyota’s translations of the planet’s murals?” Yes, Spock definitely read the reports. “She said, and I quote, _the communication is the result of low-level radiation emitted by the minerals that enhanced the natives’ telepathic abilities_. Professor T’Kari and I have conducted some tests and proved this theory to be correct. If you wear this, the radiation will influence your mind and serve as an extra protection against the intrusion.”

Jim opened his mouth to make a joke about irradiating his brains again, but shut up just in time. Judging by Spock’s subtle disapproving look, he knew perfectly well what he was about to say.

“Will I become a telepath?”

“I doubt that,” Spock said thoughtfully, “most likely you will simply become more sensitive to psionic activity. However, I cannot respond with one hundred percent accuracy. Give me the pendant, please,” he opened the holoemitter carefully and inserted the mineral between the microchips.

Jim squinted, a realization suddenly appearing. “I doubt Starfleet has just let you just chip away a piece of a precious mineral.”

“You are correct. I did not ask them.”

“Isn’t that stealing?” Jim smirked.

“That is a preventive measure,” Spock answered haughtily, but there was warmth in his eyes (and warmth from the memory of his wrist imprinted against his cheek), and no matter how much Jim tried to rein it in, he knew there was the same warmth written all over his own face.

And _that_ was everything: the excitement of a chase, the cleverness of a plan, the buzz coursing through veins after locking eyes with the person dearest to your heart.

And for one short, glorious moment he was truly alive.

On the day of the court martial Jim came home with brains turned into goo; the moment the doors swished closed he fell to his knees, closing his eyes and focusing on a flitting ribbon of a thought that threatened to slip of of his reach, obscured by the splitting pain slicing through his mind when he as much as brushed against it. If it wasn’t for Spock’s strengthening techniques and the Halkan mineral, he wouldn’t have even realized a chunk of his memory was missing – but now he knew that, and the only problem was his inability to catch it. He spent that night sleepless, hunting the memory down with all the vigor he possessed, and even as he was about to fall down with exhaustion, his single-minded focus was only on clearing the mud of interference until the first spark of clarity revealed itself.

The full memory didn’t come for many days (Spock could probably help him extract it sooner, but Jim couldn’t risk seeing him and arising suspicion), and even after it did, it was still fogged by reflexive discomfort. Samoilov, whatever apparatus he used to screw up Jim’s brain, did a thorough job.

But once he had a semblance of truth, he felt profound relief: he didn’t stupidly lose the precious pendant after all. He texted Spock, saying only three words: “The memory chip” – nothing else could be said in case someone monitored his communications, and he hoped Spock would understand the hidden meaning. They’ve never called the pendant _‘memory_ chip’, it seemed too impersonal; that was a clear hint and should make Spock realize he had to lie, and he didn’t lose it after all. Spock replied with two words of his own, “I understand,” which meant so much too: he didn’t know any details about Jim’s plan, he trusted him to handle it completely and come to aid whenever Jim needed him. He could imagine the words being said in Spock’s deep voice right into his ear, and even the mental image was of great comfort.

*

Samoilov watched Jim as he told the story, head cocked to the side, as if cataloging every word into an internal recorder.

“But nobody would believe me,” Jim continued, “if I just told them about your plans, especially since my memory was foggy – I needed proof, and now,” he pointed at the Tantalus Field, “I got it. And if the evidence is wiped out, I have this,” Jim raised his communicator where an app was running, recording every bit of audio straight into the cloud storage. “You stealing the mirror was only the matter of time, so all I had to do is wait for a sign from you while pretending to succumb to your trick – and once Scotty told me about the shipyard I realized your plan was set in motion and it was time for us to track the signal.”

Samoilov watched him for a few more long moments, seemingly shocked into paralysis.

“In that case,” he said eventually, “you must realize your oh-so-clever plan failed from the beginning. What use sharing your knowledge about me taking possession of the pendant with Commander Spock was if he was the _only one_ you shared it with? Both of you are still trapped here, on the ship I command.”

“Not for long,” Jim said. “One hit from this crowbar and the mirror will shatter like your ambitions.”

Once again, Samoilov did nothing to counter him, didn’t even try to wrestle the crowbar away; he only glanced at it nervously as his fingers twitched against his will.

“The configuration wasn’t the only thing recorded on that pendant,” Samoilov continued as if not hearing Jim at all. “I’ve seen the video. How sweet,” he smiled, obviously forced, “almost a love confession.”

Jim scowled. Samoilov watching the other Kirk’s message was violating something precious.

And now he’s had enough.

Jim raised the crowbar higher – and that’s when Samoilov finally jerked forward, and Jim expected a blow – but Samoilov halted as if paralyzed by invisible force.

His fists clenched, and he growled, “Don’t you da- The Taahtal-os is connected to the explosives layering the ship,” Samoilov took a deep breath, visibly collecting himself; he forced his fists to relax to hang loose by his sides. “If you destroy it, this entire ship blows up. Here is a choice for you,” with those words Samoilov’s voice finally lowered into absolute calmness. “Either you pursue me and shatter the mirror – or you save your precious First Officer from a bomb exploding in his face and let me have it,” he smiled dangerously and took a step back. “Don’t think too much though. We’ve been through this already– remember, on the day of the trial? – I know what you’re gonna choose.”

Fueled by adrenaline, Jim calculated his options at a supersonic speed: even if Samoilov spoke the truth, it was impossible to fry an entire ship with a single set of explosives. He’s figured it out the moment he saw the configuration of the explosives, so he clipped the connecting wiring in every section of the ship he came across, and if he knew Spock – and he did know him – Spock did the same. This only left one section of the ship to be in the fire range: the bridge.

Samoilov could be bluffing – was bluffing, Jim was sure, almost sure – he went at such lengths to get the mirror and install it, he would never allow its destruction to even be an option.

And one thing was perfectly clear: he couldn’t allow neither the mirror nor Samoilov to exit this room free.

Crowbar grasped tightly, Jim leaped towards the entrance and clobbered the touchpad: there was a distinct _snap_ , sparks bursted, jumping off the metal – and the controls went dead, blocking the closed doors completely.

Jim spinned the crowbar once and met Samoilov’s gaze.

He still didn’t move from his spot, not even when an exposed cord nearly hit him.

“So that’s how it’s going to be,” Samoilov said, showing nervousness for the first time. “Self-sacrifice.”

Jim ignored him, punching the dial on his communicator vigorously.

“Spock, are you alright?!”

“Define alright.”

“Capable of running very fast.”

“Yes, I am,” he could hear confusion in his voice.

Jim closed his eyes briefly. “Good. This place is about to blow, I want you to do just that.”

He closed his communicator in relief and readied the crowbar. Mentally, he counted to ten to give him time, breath speeding against his will; Spock was safe, that’s all that mattered.

His arms tensed.

Deep breath.

The crowbar collided with the fragile mineral, and a million tiny pieces scattered around the room, hitting all visible surfaces with a satisfying shatter. Samoilov jerked forward to shield the mirror with his body, but halted once again; a large piece of mineral hit him straight in the chest, and he staggered backwards, wrapping his arms around it like it was a precious baby. With loud snaps the screens glitched and went out one by one, and Jim braced himself against the blow–

And nothing else came.

The screens were blinking with error messages, the pieces of the mirror reflecting the letters flashing across them, the daylight was as steady as the minute before, disturbed only by the dust raised by the collision.

Slowly, not allowing himself to fully relax, Jim lowered the crowbar and let out a breath he’s been holding.

“You’re an absolute idiot, Mr. Kirk,” Samoilov growled.

Jim shrugged. “Called your bluff.”

But the truth was in the beads of cold sweat collecting on his neck, and the wild beat of his heart that was stammering even faster as adrenaline pumped through it.

“Like you said,” Jim continued, “we’ve been through this. I don’t have to answer.”

Samoilov watched him darkly.

“Your psych evaluation was right,” he noted with a hint of disbelief. “You do have suicidal tendencies.”

“Saving my friend and destroying the mirror at the expense of my life is not suicide,” Jim countered. Everyone’s constant implications were getting annoying.

Samoilov raised both eyebrows at the word ‘friend.’ “Do I _have_ to explain you all the ways you could’ve trapped me in here on my own? I mean. I can see _at least_ three.”

Jim opened his mouth to argue – and halted.

He smashed the Taahtal-os without a second thought, without even _considering_ the alternative. Yes, he wanted to destroy the mirror as soon as possible, but... What if Samoilov was right? What if everyone was right, and Jim, for once, was in the wrong?...

Pondering of the last weeks came back. Did he subconsciously wish to take his own life? Would he jump any little opportunity to needlessly endanger himself?... No, of course not. Probably not.

But then the answer came with a moment of clarity.

For Spock’s life, for his happiness, he would do all of this and more. He would be the base to his pyramid, his shelter from the storm.

After all, right now, being locked in a presumably exploding ship, he felt nothing, no notion to preserve his well-being apart from ancient instincts telling him to run for cover. All he cared about was Spock making it out unharmed.

And just as he thought of Spock–

Blue light flashed out of nowhere, the metal door creaked and groaned – and with a final hit of something from behind it flew off as if made of paper mache – the metal plate toppled into the bridge heavily and slammed into a console, reducing it to more rubbish covering the floor; a lever flew off and hit Samoilov straight in the face, and a piece of glass Jim didn’t manage to dodge from cut across his chest.

And Spock stood in the newly created hole, the laser burner in his hand: while they were wasting time talking he has cut off the fastenings that held the doors together.

Even though Spock was a head shorter than Samoilov, he managed to loom over him. Jim joined; with Spock by his side he felt invincible.

Samoilov took time reacting, as if processing Spock’s appearance was simply too difficult for him.

“Mr. Spock,” Jim could imagine cogs whirring in Samoilov’s head, “pleasure seeing you. Mr. Kirk has already told me about your mind trick–”

But Spock wasn’t the one for ornate speeches, and without wasting another second he flew up to Samoilov, aiming as if to pinch his neck – and as Samoilov grabbed his hand instantly, crashing the healing bones in a punishing grip, Jim took it as a cue to bring the crowbar down on his head, making the unconscious body thump to the floor.

“Spock!!” Jim breathed out, trying to hold his torn shirt together fruitlessly, “what are you doing here?”

Realization that if Samoilov’s threats were real Spock would’ve been in the middle of the fire gripped his stomach.

“Your order was to run,” Spock replied politely with a trace of smugness, watching his attempts at joining the two pieces of the shirt. “You did not specify the direction.”

Jim couldn’t help it; he huffed out a laugh, realizing it must’ve sounded hysterical.

Spock grabbed Samoilov’s hand and tugged the body over his shoulders; for a second Jim was afraid he was going to crumple under the weight before remembering there was literally nothing that could make Spock crumple.

Even though the explosives seemed to be just a scam, they had to get out of this ship as fast as humanly possible in case Samoilov had something else up his sleeve.

“Why did you came back?” He couldn’t resist asking. Even after countless missions it still surprised him that someone, especially Spock, would go at such lengths.

“Why would I not?” Spock answered as if it was the simplest concept, and frowned, stopping when Jim didn’t reply. “My duty is to keep you safe; I assumed you realize your value not only to me, but to the crew of the Enterprise in its entirety.”

Spock’s utilized his usual in-your-face way of giving compliments, which on the one hand, was amazing, because hey, Spock’s compliments; but on the other hand always managed to leave Jim unnaturally flustered.

Jim ran a hand through his hair – a habit he couldn’t get rid of – and nearly plastered himself into a wall as he stumbled over something unseen in the dark. Spock straightened him instantly, unerringly grasping his forearm.

“How much do you think HQ will beat me up for smashing the Taahtal-os?”

“You do not need to worry,” Spock said; his expression wasn’t invisible in the dark, but Jim could imagine his hard determined eyes, “no matter what the consequences will be, I will stay by your side. In a sense that I will provide support being a witness to the necessity of your actions,” he corrected himself.

Jim smiled faintly at this clumsy emotion coverup. “I get it, Spock. Thanks.”

And just as they thought they won’t be able to reach the exit without falling down a Jefferies tube, and Jim thought about jumping out of the cargo bay window, there was beeping, cracking, and a voice exclaimed, “Gotcha!”

The corridors were fully lit instantly, illuminating not only the old bulkheads with flaking plastic, but Scotty and Uhura as well. Scotty was holding an impressive array of instruments and two parts of a cord he’s just connected; he eyed the crowbar Jim still didn’t let go of with interest – Jim spinned it in his fingers proudly.

As for Uhura, concern in her eyes was transformed into disapproval the moment she saw they were uninjured.

“You should’ve called us,” she accused.

“Sorry,” Jim shrugged, “I guess I was too caught up in the moment.”

“I’ve called the Federation security,” she continued, coming up to Spock and helping relieve the weight of Samoilov’s body on his shoulders. “They will be here any minute to take him.”

Scotty appeared by her side instantly, taking some of the weight onto himself; Uhura smiled at him softly in gratitude.

“What about the Field?” Scotty asked, and Jim knew he wasn’t interested in whether it was still functional.

“I smashed the mirror,” Jim said, and Uhura muttered darkly, “Good riddance.”

“The Tantalus Field was activated when we got here, but Samoilov didn’t use it,” Jim continued, rubbing his temples. “Everything’s alright.”

“He didn’t?...” Uhura glanced at him, surprised.

Scotty frowned deeply but said nothing, and then got distracted by the Federation Security officer who’s just arrived on the site.

Spock watched Jim trying to conceal the wince with utter seriousness.

“Are you well?” He asked.

“Yeah,” Jim dropped his hand and smiled, “but I still get a headache every time I think about Samoilov. Are _you_ okay?” He pointed at Spock’s bandaged palms. “He got you pretty bad.”

“The pressure wasn’t strong enough to affect me in any way,” Spock flexed his fingers and added quieter. “Unfortunately, the healing process cannot be sped up. It is illogical to wish for unachievable, but I want you to know that I would have helped with your mental pain if I could.”

Jim smiled wider. How anyone could think Spock was anything but the sweetest man alive was beyond his understanding.

“It’s okay, Spock. I know you would.”

Spock nodded – and the next moment he snapped out of whatever thought he had and looked at Jim sharply.

“You have to explain the situation to your mother as soon as possible. Your last interaction was necessarily severe, and she cannot be allowed to believe you do not care for her,” he said, tone determined.

“Of course I will,” Jim replied. It was so sweet to know it was Spock’s primary concern.

There was so much _feeling_ : exhilaration, hope, the _victory_ – he couldn’t help it. Everything was possible.

“That was awesome,” he said, rounding Spock and blinding him with his smile while the security officers catalogued the damage and listened to Uhura and Scotty tell their version of events. “And you know what? So were we. I say, that was some amazing teamwork and thorough planning and I’m pretty tired of hiding everything. What do you think we have a normal dinner, just you and me, no parents, no codewords, no pretense?”

And Spock just looked at him with an expression Jim now recognized after seeing it many times on the ship – but this time it was on the foreground, in all its disturbing omnipresence. Concealed, deeply rooted sadness that was planted years ago, before the disasters, before his life could even begin.

The smile slipped off, because Jim could read the answer in those lines around his eyes.

“It would not be advisable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess the theme of the chapter is doing a thing in one way and being blind to other ways due to ideas planted in your subconscious.  
> Sometimes an obviously evil guy is really evil.  
> The not really erased memory thing is the first big reveal of the fic, the one where you can reread the previous chapters with the newfound knowledge and maybe find some interesting details.
> 
> Here's the main idea I had for writing this fic: the main characters are living in A WORLD, not in a vacuum. That's why there are so many side characters and OCs, so many little subplots - because the main characters are not the only ones, they interact with the world and the world interacts back, things continue happening. I knew the key component to solving the mystery should be delivered by Uhura's and Scotty's hands - I just love seeing them working together. Just like in The Mirror.  
> And just like The Mirror, I still take so much joy in writing fake science! You have no idea, these are my favourite parts of the story, even though I have NO idea about science haha.  
> Can I just say I love T'Kari, and writing bits of her backstory was great too. That's the thing with OCs, sometimes you create them and you end up falling in love with them.  
> Although I still had to cut some subplots, simply for the sake of the pacing. If you're interested, I'll be posting the cut scenes and plots on tumblr eventually.  
> Also it is worth mentioning that the flashback part was where it clearly shows that this fic used to be a screenplay. I mean, if it was a movie, that scene would've fit perfectly into it. 
> 
> And another thing, about Regail's PR techniques. I'm so glad I created this character because I can use him to comment on how the government and the federal news lie to us. 90% of what he suggests is based on very real things I've unfortunately encountered.  
> Btw if you want me to illustrate something from this fic, you can always go to leifor.tumblr.com and ask me, I'll be happy to! I'm definitely drawing the bike scene later lmao.
> 
> Also now I think this fic is probably better to read all at once, this way the plot flows better; maybe I shouldn't have posted it chapter-by-chapter...  
> Sorry for the late update. There was a period when I kinda wanted to give up on writing.


	6. The Vision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...And there was a wall between them, and the wall was a reversed pyramid.

After basically saving San Francisco from a mirror-induced killing spree Jim got another commendation, the news about which spread like wildfire with Regail’s help, and finally some cautious stares and terrified whispers behind his back seemed to begin to die out as people moved on with their lives. Perhaps it was easier for them now: the threat, however unknown, was gone, out of sight, out of mind.

Command tried to lecture Jim for destroying the “invaluable object” at first, of course, but no one could answer a direct question about what they were expecting to do with it. When Jim asked if they really assumed no one else would try to follow Samoilov’s example they shut up pretty quickly.

As for Regail, he doubled the efforts of convincing people Jim was an angel in a man’s body. Regail sunk his teeth into this example of heroism and milked every last drop of positive PR he could get out of it – this included multiple interviews and even a lecture for the kids about survival under pressure. If Jim thought being a public figure was exhausting before, now it seemed like a child’s game compared to the days following the incident; with all the commotion crammed into twenty-four hours and Regail micromanaging every single second he ended up coming home when the sun was already lightening up the horizon and falling into the bed without changing, blacking out before his head even hit the pillow – and then waking up to the shrilling wail of the communicator where Regail’s unfairly chipper voice called him to participate in new exciting events.

Even though Jim would rather dedicate his time to solving the mystery of Samoilov and his mind erasing capabilities. But alas, he was only human, and although he _did try_ opening the files he had on Samoilov, he was asleep before he could read the first word.

The thing Jim actually started respecting Regail for was him actually requesting Enid to stop publishing unflattering articles for the duration of the campaign. She miraculously agreed in exchange for becoming the only reporter he would talk to – and even though the prospect of more Enid-driven conversations was dreadful, Jim still considered this a win.

Halka was protected better than any other planet in the quadrant: three entirely armed  constitution-class starships were assigned to orbit it. Halkans disapproved, saying they felt like bugs under a microscope, but just like with the Taahtal-os they were ignored. The Admiralty shrugged; objectively speaking the planet was _far_ more valuable than its inhabitants; that was the only thing Samoilov was right about, they said. The Halkans rightfully pointed out that Starfleet has taken the mirror to protect it and now their most precious relic was just a bunch of green shards. In return, Starfleet pointed out their relic was a dangerous weapon and destroying it was honestly the best outcome. Mentally, Jim pointed out that some people’s ability to change opinions quickly depending on what was the most beneficial at the moment was truly impressive.

With all this thrown onto him Jim barely had time to speak to anyone apart from the Admiralty demanding a report. Vice Admiral Sato seemed particularly distressed, claiming she had no idea she was working alongside a mole.

“Andrew wasn’t the nicest man,” she said, “but I would never think he was capable of organizing a crime on this scale… He’s served in Starfleet for _thirty years_ , and leaking the top secret footage, betraying us like that...”

“You did say he was interested in the latest inventions and findings, he probably planned his career to get unlimited access to them,” Jim pointed out in an attempt to console, but Sato only sighed.

“We are explorers, _everyone_ is interested in new breakthroughs; are you saying we should suspect everyone now?” She shook her head slowly. “I’m so sorry about what he made you go through. Stolen memories is not something we can compensate, but the investigation is underway; we didn’t find out what he used to alter your memory yet, but we will, I promise.”

Samoilov was keeping silent so far, neither confirming nor denying their theories. The only thing he said when he was arrested was confessing to shutting down the transmitting tower and leaking the footage, taking blame calmly and even proudly. For a man who painted himself as a cartoony bad guy his resolve was surprisingly unwavering.

According to the law, if the culprit wasn’t confessing to the crime and the witnesses weren’t enough – or the crime was too serious to rely on witnesses only – they were given twenty-four hours to consider confessing. If not, they were given a very potent and very painful truth serum (the method which ethical ramifications were debated even to this day); Jim couldn’t wait to hear what Samoilov would tell under its influence.

Samoilov was their only thread connected to the bundled mess they hoped to unwrap; he had no accomplices, not even a suspect who could do the dirty work for him. Even though they found many communication devices in the shipyard, the jammer that masked the mirror’s wavelength was also used to conceal the incoming and outcoming signals; they could not be traced, but now that Starfleet’s best engineers, including Scotty, were on the case, they were sure the solution would be found soon.

Jim believed this was the moment when things would change for the best, he really did.

Until twenty-three hours later Samoilov was found dead in his cell having taken a cyanide pill.

***

Eventually, the crews of the ships assigned to Halka became plainly _bored_. Some even said the heightened security was sending the wrong message suggesting the Federation wasn’t as safe as it claimed to be. Some dilithium-rich members of the Federation were giving attitude by pointing out that if Halka got top security, why couldn’t _they_? Did the Federation not value them enough? Maybe it was time to _leave_ the Federation?...

Not so subtle blackmailing resulted in Starfleet calling off a ship within a week. Then one more. Then, in the end, they left only one Franklin-type starship with a third of its crew on board to orbit a planet expecting a threat that might not even come. After all, Halka was close to major routes: one distress call and all of Starfleet could come rushing in.

In the light of the memory erasure investigation, after what went down with Samoilov, and with Regail’s insane workload that was akin to the exams on the accelerated course in the Academy, the other concerns were kind of moved on the background of Jim’s thoughts; a human mind could only handle so much.

That’s why when he saw Scotty’s name on his buzzing communicator it took a few solid seconds to figure out why he would be calling – only to pick up and learn that he and Uhura haven’t been wasting time and collected Enid’s entire biography just like Jim asked them to do.

...Or rather, the bits of the biography available to them.

Because if Samoilov was shady, Enid seemed downright fabricated.

“We started with searching for every source mentioning her name,” Scotty began. “The first piece she’s ever written was about you actually, published five years ago.”

This wasn’t weird on itself, many reporters have jumped on the fertile topic of Vulcan’s destruction hoping to snatch a bit of fame, circling the others’ misery like vultures.

“She continued writing after that,” Scotty continued, “everything about you, everything for The Intergalactic, not a first ever niche reporter, sure… But there _is_ a strange thing though – there’s no pictures of her – not a profile in her magazine, no Spacetagram account, not even from the Antonio’s confrontation. With the amount of your pics people shared on Twitter and whatnot you would’ve thought some would snap a picture of her – but no, there’s just you and Mr. Spock. Well, there is one where her hand is shoving a recorder into your mouth, but that doesn’t count,” Scotty paused to catch a breath. “I guess the next step is pretty obvious: if she clearly doesn’t want her pictures taken we take one and run it through the facial recognition software,” there were sounds of typing on the other end. “I can’t find her anywhere on surveillance tapes; she’s never been caught on one, just ends of her dresses or hands. And she never pays for anything, I tried tracing her credit chip… To be honest,” he laughed, “I’m starting to believe the San Francisco ghost story.”

Jim narrowed his eyes; he knew Enid was no good. A good person wouldn’t dedicate their entire life to talking shit about someone else; and remembering her heavy stare from under the unnatural amount of hair only solidified his suspicions.

He kept expecting to hear Uhura’s voice too – she and Scotty grew so much closer lately that it was impossible to imagine one without the other.

Right on cue, Uhura said, “Are you certain Enid is our suspect? There is no record of her doing anything illegal, and hiding all information about herself could be because of paranoia, or she could be hiding from someone. I simply don’t want to accidentally expose an innocent person – even if they _are_ shitty.”

“I know we have no proof, but she seems to be connected to something, she must have a reason to suddenly appear out of nowhere,” Jim replied. “If we have a chance to dig up this anthill we must take it.”

“If you say so,” he could still hear traces of doubt in Uhura’s voice. “You are the only one who met her in real life, after all.”

“I’ll take a holo next time I see her and we’ll figure everything out. We will bring her down,” Jim reassured – as luck would have it, he was meeting Regail and Enid for a discussion about… Something he couldn’t even remember. Online presence and creating his public Spacetagram page probably.

However, he never realized how hard it actually was going to be.

Being with Enid was like witnessing an accident: it was horrible and sickening, yet you couldn’t look away – and at the same time she had the strangest repelling quality; as if he _wanted_ to focus on her features but something was preventing his mind from doing so.

“Is something the matter, Mr. Kirk?” She asked, and Jim started, realizing he spent minutes staring at her.

“No, Enid…” Jim’s eyes darted around in search of a compliment, the horrible clash of neon green and magenta worming its way into his line of sight stubbornly. “You look… dazzling today.”

“Makeup does wonders, don’t you think?” She blinked, slowly and deliberately, and some eyeshadow fell on the padd lying on the desk.

“Right,” Jim looked away. Regail seemed to be unable to look at her too; Jim could only imagine what a fancy man like him was going through having to work with such an eyesore. Despite being invited, Enid behaved as if she owned the entire building; she became so much smugger ever since Regail agreed to her proposition of becoming the sole reporter allowed to talk to Jim. Jim let him handle all the details of the PR campaign, realizing he could protest all he wanted, Regail would still end up doing what he thought best. Besides, he was a professional, unlike Jim. He must trust him with this.

Even if this meant sitting across Enid asking provoking questions.

Unexpectedly, for the first time since the beginning of this campaign they were interrupted: in the middle of a very passionate speech about what camera angles convey innocence better Regail got a call to be present immediately at some kind of an event organization – he hurried to put his coat on with a dozen apologies.

“And take the rest of the day off,” Regail told Jim graciously as he grabbed his briefcase, “you look like shit and that is bad PR no makeup can possibly fix.”

The door closed after him.

Jim and Enid looked at each other for a second, and as Enid began getting up to no doubt leave without another word, he decided to try a bold approach first by simply taking the communicator and saying, “Mind if I take a holo of you?”

He prayed she was aloof enough to not ask what he needed it for, otherwise he’d have to make up a terrible lie about a scrapbook dedicated to his career.

“I would rather not,” Enid replied, stilling as if Jim held a phaser instead of a communicator. “As you have _undoubtedly_ noticed, I avoid cameras. Unfortunately, I have made quite a few adversaries over the course of my work–”

“Gee, I wonder why...” Jim muttered.

“–They are the reason I prefer not to showcase my appearance.”

Jim’s gaze raked down slowly, taking in the trainwreck of a dress, and back up, meeting Enid’s yellow eyes, raising both eyebrows pointedly.

Enid stared at him, unblinking.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t trust Regail to dictate every single step you take,” she said suddenly.

Jim paused mid-movement pocketing the communicator, and stared at her in disbelief. “I think I’m perfectly capable to decide whom to trust, thanks.”

Enid pursed her lips. “Of course, it’s your choice. You can choose someone who smiles at you and dedicated all his time to serving you, or you can choose someone who tells you the truth. And the truth is,” she leaned forward, voice getting lower, so unlike her usual bland tone, “there are ears everywhere. Don’t trust anyone, ever.”

She blinked; the star stickers flew off her eyelashes and got stuck in her bangs, and Jim reached out, intending to point it out when she took a wide step back towards the exit as if his hand was poisonous. Her posture relaxed quickly, but not fast enough for Jim not to notice the fighter’s stance.

She was ready to hit him straight into the solar plexus.

He needed to get that holo pronto.

Saying nothing else, she turned on her heel.

“Wait!” He exclaimed, halting Enid when she was at the door. “How about we do another meeting tomorrow? Such a shame we are interrupted, I’d love to know all about, uh, how the pastel filter subconsciously makes the viewers victimize you?”

Enid’s hand fell from the scanner at the door.

“Look who’s finally came around.”

“Yep,” Jim showed both thumbs up, “now I crave that sweet taste of fame,” he hoped he sounded convincingly cheerful.

“If an analogy was required, I would call it spicy,” Enid smiled that slow fake smile of hers. “Very enjoyable, but a few can handle it. I’ll see you next week, Mr. Kirk,” and she slid a hand over the scanner.

Watching her retreating back drawn in an unnatural straight line, Jim knew one thing: next week he _would_ have a holo of her even if it killed him.

***

Arriving to his apartment while the sun was still up in the sky, without a bag full of padds with very important articles he _‘absolutely must read, otherwise Regail wouldn’t talk to him’_ was so unusual.

Almost as unusual as seeing Rand’s face as the lift doors opened at his floor.

She might as well have been hit by a freeze ray: she didn’t move from where her hand was outstretched towards the panel, only glancing down at her wristwatch and back at Jim.

“Hi, Janice,” Jim said cautiously, surprised by the overreaction, and stepped out. “What are you doing here?”

Rand’s hand pressed against the panel, preventing the doors from closing, as she sidestepped Jim, finally smiling at him dazzlingly.

“I should be the one asking that, don’t you live in another building, Captain? Oh wait,” she looked at her watch again while slowly seeping into the lift, “this isn’t the fifth condominium – I keep mixing our buildings up, they are so identical! I really gotta speak to the archit–”

The lift doors cut her off.

Jim stared at the closed doors numbly for a second, and then shook his head, rummaging for his cardkey. He’s always known Rand as an eccentric person; in a way, he still didn’t understand what just happened, but it was Rand, so he let it slide.

That evening was the first one when Jim actually had time and energy to not only have a decent dinner but change into pyjama bottoms and surround himself with padds with every bit of evidence on Samoilov he could get, prepared to spend the evening in a full-on detective mode.

He considered calling Spock – well, that was always in the periphery of his thoughts even as he was talking to first-graders about the importance of bravery – they had to settle their out-of-nowhere conflict.

They were supposed to be solving this case together as an unstoppable duet, come out with flying colours to the cheers of the audience, like they always did – this case was supposed to strengthen their friendship, not thin it to the point of nonexistence. What was the use of going back to all the secrecy if everyone already knew their secret codes?

Unless, of course, Spock was simply fed up with his antics and was trying to hint at it in his usual direct way. The night they spent at the gardens seemed so far away now – why did Spock look at him in that content way then? Was it just pretense – or one final tribute to their friendship?

Jim sunk into the bed with a self-deprecating groan, letting a bunch of padds hit the floor. Great, he gets _one_ free evening on this damn shore leave and his mind immediately turns a gun on him.

He sighed and rubbed his eyes, glancing outside to see dark blue sky – it was already midnight and he _still_ hasn’t found any new leads. Well, of course he didn’t – he didn’t have a partner to make strict logical suggestions next to him, the ones that would balance his own intuitive hunches out and eventually spark the light that would lead to the solution.

His fingers found the pendant reflexively, warmed by the heat of his skin. Spock used to wear it the same way, pressed against his own skin; it was never noticeable under the uniform, but if Spock could wear something with a low v-neck, like a sweater, or a Starfleet-issued bathrobe that would display his bare chest all the way down to the stomach, with the chain lying against it, and Jim’s hands would slide right over–

Jim wanted to slap himself. Damn, he was pathetic.

Jim squeezed his eyes shut with a steel determination to fall asleep the next second and not letting his thoughts focus on anything but the faint whirring of the hovercars outside. San Francisco was out there swarming with life, certainly not caring it was lacking one of its inhabitants.

Sulu, for example, was probably doing something fun with his family. He hasn’t heard from him in a while–

This time Jim really did slap himself.

Giving up on his organism listening to orders, he finally swallowed some sleeping medicine – his insomnia was returning lately – and squashed his face into the pillow.

Now it was certainly time to sleep.

*

“Jim.”

Slowly, he opened his eyes, seeing nothing but darkness and the clock’s screen telling him it’s 3 am. He must’ve been mistaken, there was no way–

“Jim, look at me.”

Jim sat up, his muscles feeling heavy all of a sudden, and stared at Spock’s pale face standing out against the black backdrop.

“ _Spock?!_ What are you doing here?” Not that he didn’t appreciate this particular sudden guest, Spock never visited without prior warning, and his unexpected appearance was a clear sign that something was wrong. “Did something happen? Are you hurt? Is someone _dead?_ ”

Spock simply continued to look at him with a sort of subtle rapturous expression, as though seeing him for the first – or last? – time. Then he moved slowly, deliberately forward and covered Jim’s hands with his own.

That was the moment when the situation finally sank in: Jim was half-naked, Spock sitting on the edge of his bed in total darkness, illuminated only by a soft blue light coming from somewhere – and Jim simply didn’t seem to be able to look away from Spock’s mesmerizing face and its incredibly gentle expression.

“I am perfectly well, Jim,” he answered with a hint of sadness, saying the single syllable of Jim’s name with such emotion, he felt choked for a moment.

Jim could see the reflection of the stars in his eyes – no, not just a reflection. Real stars sparkled from within the specks of brown...

That’s strange. Jim could’ve sworn his bedroom had walls and a ceiling instead of the endless expanse of the magnificent shifting galaxies.

But all those thoughts flew out of the window the moment Spock’s lips pressed against his.

Jim sat paralyzed for a moment as Spock kissed him gently, and before his mind could process and ask a reasonable question _why_ , his body was already reacting, pressing his palms hard on Spock’s shoulder blades and drawing him in, responding with the vigor all the pent up desire provided.

He tried keeping it gentle, but it was so _hard,_ in every sense of the word, to hold back when he was _finally_ given what he wanted, so he pressed bodily against him, hunger and greed arousing anew every passing moment, and the galaxies pulsed to the beat of his heart...

An eternity later, Spock moved away just enough for both of them to see each other clearly, and Jim stared at his face against the burning stars, breathing hard, hands refusing to leave their place where they were tangled in Spock’s hair. Jim swept his palms over the perfectly straight bangs, ruffling them like he’s been wanting to do for years, his fingertips leaving trails of starlight in their wake. Total silence surrounded them; not empty but full of inaudible songs of the stars. Jim’s thumb swept over one tilted eyebrow, and he felt a soft smile tugging his lips.

He might’ve had some rational questions, like what was going on – but nothing matters at that moment apart from the stars and the heat of skin pressed against skin.

“I must be dreaming,” Jim muttered. Spock’s fingers ran over his cheekbone.

“It doesn’t matter.”

Jim snorted softly. “You’re using contractions. It’s definitely a dream.”

Spock only smiled fondly. “You are asleep, that’s all I can tell you. It doesn’t mean you are dreaming.”

“That’s literally the definition of dreaming,” Jim protested, but Spock’s slight smile only widened. Jim wanted to save this moment to cherish it for the rest of his life, with Spock looking at him like he was the most precious thing in the world. The very real blistering heat of the alien skin was right under his fingertips was warming him to the core.

Spock hand brushed over Jim’s hair and tucked one blonde lock behind his ear, eyes growing sad. Jim didn’t move, too scared to disturb this dream-vision.

“I came to warn you,” Spock said finally, meeting his eyes. “You should tell him what you feel.”

Jim straightened immediately. The songs of the stars were deafened.

“ _Him_?”

“If you do not, it will result in disaster,” Spock added. “And death.”

“...You are not Spock,” Jim frowned, hands falling from Spock’s face. “Who _are_ you? And could you give a less vague hint?”

Not-Spock tilted his head. “I thought ‘death’ was pretty direct. If you seek to avoid it there is only one way: your connection must be solidified. It is already very strong, all you have to do is take one final step and complete it.”

Jim stared at him, suspicious, but still couldn’t find strength to move away from the presence that seemed to make him feel complete for the first time since the Halka Incident.

“You still haven’t told me who you are.”

“You know who I am and why I chose this image,” ‘Spock’ said. He pressed a feather-light kiss against Jim’s lips–

–and suddenly a hollow pit burst open in Jim’s stomach, filling him with such agony and longing, as though half of his body was ripped off and the only way to get it back was to reach out towards–

– and there was a wall between them, and the wall was a reversed pyramid–

The next moment Jim was shooting out of his bed to face the regular light walls of his bedroom, panting, phantom pain of yearning echoing in his mind. He rubbed his face, eyes wide, trying to smoothen the bundle of thoughts. Unlike the normal dreams that lost all their legitimacy once they were over, Jim knew this not-Spock was real in some sense, no matter how ridiculous it sounded. Jim remembered every touch, the softness of his lips, the stars in his eyes – was he going crazy? Was he desperate enough to create an image that felt so real?

His hands fell onto his lap.

The warning must’ve been real too.

Jim swallowed heavily; a passing car sent light dancing off the reflective surfaces of the room and he shivered – it looked too much like stars flickering in the corner of his eye.

The clock still read 3 am; his hand hovered over the communicator for a second and retreated slowly. Jim didn’t want to freak Bones out with his dream, and he certainly didn’t want Spock to know he was a guest star in his weird floating space fantasy-turned-nightmarish-warning, and there was no one else he would want to share such intimate details with.

Instead he staggered to the bathroom and shoved his head under a stream of freezing water that seemed to turn his ears into icicles.

Well, suppressing was always a foolproof way of dealing with problems.

***

The next morning Jim wobbled into the Research Facility building half asleep; it was a wonder he didn’t crash his bike on the way here. He always took a bike ever since the day they fought Samoilov in case they’d need to go somewhere fast again and Spock would want to wrap his arms around him. He was planning on seeing Spock – not to discuss his dream, mind you. Just to chat and get an update on the mineral examination.

_Result in death._

Maybe ask if he’s alright – just in case.

 _Result in death,_ Spock’s voice was playing on repeat in his head. _Result in death._

“Shut up,” Jim muttered under his breath, “no one’s going to die.”

“Excuse me?”

Jim whirled around to see T’Kari, fingers stilled in the middle of typing in a security code.

“Judging by your expression of surprise I assume you were not talking to me,” she said, tilting her head, as if scanning him from the inside out. “Spock will not be here today due to me requesting him to take care of my young daughter while I am absent.”

Jim deflated instantly. It’s like the universe was saying, here’s a chance to take a nap you need.

A second later his brain caught up, and he asked, “You have a daughter?”

“I do,” T’Kari replied. Jim waited for an elaboration – but none came, and he didn’t want to be the one to request it.

“Would you like to share a cup of a hot beverage of your choice with me in the meantime?” T’Kari asked before he had a chance to say goodbye. “The meeting with your agent is scheduled in one hour, twenty minutes, and six seconds, which is just enough time to drink a cup of tea in an unhurried pace.”

Rubbing one bleary eye, Jim asked, “How did you know about my schedule?”

“It is my duty to know many things, Mr. Kirk,” T’Kari said, finally opening the door. As expressionless as she was, the idea of inability to accept a rejection was still very clear, so Jim dutifully followed. It’s not like he had anything better to do.

This time T’Kari didn’t offer him any tea, instead pouring a cup of strangely smelling coffee. The smell turned out to be thymus essence – “It will awaken your mind in a very short time,” T’Kari said, “I have made certain you are not allergic to it, if that is your concern.” A single sip worked wonders, and once again Jim was torn between gratitude and disdain at the way she masterfully managed to somehow make him owe her.

When Jim shared his concerns about T’Kari with McCoy earlier, McCoy looked at him as if seriously doubting his mental state.

“So let me get this straight. Spock is okay with T’Kari, but you think he shouldn’t be, so you are… compensating for him by hating her? Even though actually you think she’s totally fine?”

“He’s not okay with her,” Jim crossed his arms. “Spock clearly doesn’t like her but he can’t show it.”

“...Right. Obviously.”

“Spock thinks he’s not allowed to feel any negativity towards her because it’s illogical to be affected by his father’s marriage and stuff. I can read him, Bones, I know when he’s hiding something.”

McCoy’s eyebrows flew even higher.

“Sure. I don’t doubt that.”

Overcompensating, McCoy said. Well, maybe he was right, maybe Jim was wrong to be biased against T’Kari – not when she kept inviting him over, making him terrible drinks, and attempting to befriend him or something – but he had to show Spock an example. He was allowed to feel bad, allowed to get angry when Sarek shoved this new person into his life unannounced: there was clearly no feelings involved, this arrangement of a marriage was completely unnecessary and therefore cruel.

The sound of the door swoosh was a blessing to his ears once the agonizingly awkward hour was up and T’Kari finally set him free. He was more than ready to escape her office – only to find Regail on the other side of the door.

“Oh, hey–” Jim began, when T’Kari stepped in beside him, looming with all her impressive height, channeling pure intimidation.

“I would appreciate it if you knocked next time instead of loitering in front of my door,” her voice was capable of freezing oxygen into dust.

The way Regail stilled was almost comical, like a deer in a headlight of a spaceship descending to abduct it; something indescribable flashed in his eyes for a moment until he magically transformed into the brightest smile Jim’s ever seen.

“I do not believe we have been formally introduced – hello, I’m Regail. Finally I find someone who can dress here.”

Jim snorted despite himself; roasting at Enid was too enjoyable.

“I am S’chn T’gai T’Kari,” T’Kari inclined her head, looking him over with narrowed eyes. “Is there a reason for you to be in my office?”

“I was just looking for Mr. Kirk and your assistants directed me here,” Regail said, smile still plastered on his face but straining with each passing second. “Our meeting is scheduled–”

“–in eleven minutes and twenty-five seconds,” T’Kari finished, even colder than before, if it was even possible. Regail frowned.

T’Kari’s nostrils flared – and watching this, Jim realized this was the first time he saw her even remotely upset, but it wasn’t just that: she was furious.

Jim almost pumped the air in delight: finally, some solid evidence – T’Kari wasn’t the perfect step-mother figure after all, he was right, she was prejudiced against the Romulans!

All inappropriate excitement left him the moment he saw Regail’s expression transforming into a stony mask.

Crap, he’s just been happy about Spock’s step-mother being a speciest. He was disgusting.

“Well,” Jim said in attempt to get the situation under control, “as fun as this was – we’ve got work to do, we’d better get going,” he slapped Regail’s tense back in hopes of conveying his support through a short touch. He was a professional in this: after all, the back and shoulders was the only area he allowed himself to touch Spock, calculating the exact amount of seconds his hand could linger to a perfect precision.

“Of course, I would not want to be the reason for a delay. Our conversation was highly informative, James,” T’Kari said, which was her way of saying ‘Nice talking to you.’ “As was with you, Mister – what was your name again?”

Jim has never thought an eyebrow raise could be so repulsive.

Regail threw her an unreadable lingering glance in response, and turned on his heels without another word.

The office was merely in another wing of the building, and yet the walk there was like passing through a portal into an alternate dimension. Regail’s frown was obviously just a mask to prevent T’Kari from seeing how much her words affected him, and by the time Regail threw his suitcase on the desk and sunk on the chair with his face in his hands he transformed into a different man.

“What a day,” he sighed. His bangs looked soggy and unkempt, even his shoes seemed to lose their shine; nothing like his usual overdramatic ways.

Jim couldn’t stand seeing anyone suffer from prejudice. “You shouldn’t listen to her,” he said, settling at the desk, “she obviously doesn’t know shit.”

Regail either didn’t hear anything or decided to ignore him.

“I thought... we might put the campaign on hold for today. Who cares what people with no common sense think, right?” He said and pulled a bottle of bright blue liquid from under the table. It seems that’s the only thing his important businessman-looking briefcase contained. “Want a drink?”

“Romulan ale?” Jim asked, surprised. “Aren’t you afraid of getting drunk?”

“That’s my secret, Mr. Kirk. I’m always drunk. Haven’t been sober for three years,” Regail threw his head back, laughing, and Jim couldn’t figure out whether he was joking or not.

“What happened to keeping your head clear during work?”

Regail was already pouring two glasses.

“Maybe we can forget about that rule for today,” he emptied the glass in one go. Jim didn’t like the prospect of another pounding headache in the morning and only took a single sip that burned its way down his stomach.

“Must’ve been hard for you to move to Earth,” he said, suddenly feeling deep sympathy for the man.

Regail shrugged clumsily. “When I was a child, maybe. But worth it. Everything was worth it. I’ve always wanted to belong to something larger than myself…” He sighed with a distant look. “The sense of belonging is so much more precious than you give it credit for.”

“Have you ever thought about returning to Romulus?”

Regail looked at him as if he suggested to jump out the window head first and didn’t reply.

They drank in silence for a while, each ruminating on their own thoughts. Jim’s vision surfaced at the forefront of his mind – something he managed to keep at bay for the morning as to not get too disappointed.

Or weirded out. Or worried. He hasn’t decided how to feel about last night yet.

But now, with a glass in his hand and the ale coursing through his organism it seemed like a perfect moment to consider the implications of it – so he took another sip. Just one more couldn’t hurt.

He seemed to be getting a lot of warnings from all kinds of Spocks lately. He wondered if Ambassador said something to him too – something he didn’t consider a warning at the time. Like the pendant; Jim pressed his hand against the tiny triangle briefly... No, this couldn’t be; the message held nothing but clear love and adoration older Kirk had for the Ambassador. It wasn’t a secret sign or a hidden doomsday instruction; it was a very simple feeling, that yet was the most huge and significant thing at the same time.

_He will not mention it, but he will need your help very soon._

_Result in death._

Jim kind of wanted to use the mirror to find the alternate universe Spock again, shake him and shout, _help with what?!_

“I’ve always wanted to ask you a very personal question,” Regail muttered suddenly. Now there was just a splash of ale left in the bottle; he looked at it droopily, shrugged, and pulled another one from his briefcase. “Is there an afterlife?”

Jim was ripped out of his musings about how to crack the shell of pride and stubbornness and make Spock admit he has a problem and looked at Regail blearily. For some reason the glass in front of him was now half-empty – or should he say half-full? He breathed out a laugh and took another sip – there, now it wouldn’t provoke any more philosophical questions.

“I mean, when you died,” Regail waved a hand vaguely, “did you see anything? Was there a god? Was it a human god?”

Jim straightened; suddenly he realized no one has actually asked him about the experience. His friends considered the topic too sensitive, Bones has downright _yelled_ at him for even implying a joke about his own death; and the others, including Winona, seemed to think they weren’t allowed to talk about something this personal.

Jim wished he could share a poetic experience, but all he remembered was pain from his burning lungs and pain from the glass between fingers that were never meant to touch.

“I don’t know. I haven’t seen anything – well, I saw the radiation chamber, and the warp core, and… Spock’s face on the other side of the glass,” Jim jerked a shoulder. “I think after I died I saw him too – but that could’ve been merely a hallucination. Maybe that’s the big revelation the world was waiting for, dead can have dreams.”

His mouth was running on autopilot; he didn’t know why he decided to tell all this right here, to Regail: maybe he finally found a person who would listen but was too miserable himself to care and comment.

Maybe it was the ale’s fault. Jim could feel the pulse in his burnt throat, speeding up to remind him about his still beating heart.

“Lucky,” Regail told the bottle. “You got to see the one you care for the most before death. Got a chance to say goodbye. Not many have this privilege.”

“I wouldn’t call that luck,” Jim responded, mostly to himself. “I think it’s better without the goodbye – less regrets this way. Because when I saw– when I saw what I was about to lose… That wasn’t a reminder I needed.”

Regail hummed and drowned the sixth – or seventh? – glass.

It seemed Regail’s choose of relaxation lied in getting smashed. Jim laughed internally thinking about Regail finding soulmate in McCoy. And then sobered thinking about his own supposed soulmate.

“Who do you want to say goodbye to?” Jim was aware of how jumbled his words became and frowned at himself: he couldn’t be _that_ drunk already.

“Well, I, I had… someone. A wife, I suppose,” Regail rubbed the tattooed band on his finger absentmindedly.

“You _suppose_?”

“It’s a… long and complicated story.”

“Do tell,” Jim spread his arms generously.

Regail inhaled deeply. “As long as I lived, I always travelled – Erath, Andoria, Vulcan, Cait, you name it. And in one of my travels I met the most divine woman that ever existed. She became my light, my purpose, my– my wife. She was perfect, there’s no other way of putting it… She loved me. And I loved her — _so much_ , with everything I had. If she asked me to, I would’ve moved planets with my bare hands... but she never did. All she asked me was to wait, because I had to leave for my travels, and she was forced to marry another. I haven’t seen her since then,” he sighed and swirled the drink. “She promised we’re going to be together again someday, but I’m starting to think that’s never going to happen,” he shook his head.

“She stayed on Romulus,” Jim guessed.

Regail didn’t reply, just rubbed a hand over his tired face. To hide the pain painting his features, Jim knew.

“How old do you think I am?” He asked unexpectedly.

“Uh… Around thirty?”

“Forty-two,” Regail tilted his glass to make the ale splash. “I’m so old, I know I don’t have very long till... You know. Day by day, my life devalues. And I – I just want to spend this time with my family, I’m so tired of all of this…” His eyes squeezed shut, and a shaky exhale escaped his lips. “I haven’t seen my wife and child in three years. I don’t think my child even remembers me. I miss them so much…” He sighed deeply and raised a glass. “Here’s to you, let your personal life be less complicated than mine. Don’t waste a minute, Mr. Kirk. You may think there’s plenty of time to be idiots and argue and overcomplicate things by creating problems that can easily be solved by simply talking to each other, but one day you’ll look back to see years left behind you, and you did _nothing_ , and the other half of you is light years away with someone who would never appreciate them the way they deserve – and that’s when you realize how truly short your life is,” he finished bitterly, dropping his head into his hands gracelessly.

Jim chewed on the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should go talk to Spock.

Regail took a huge swing of the bottle, thumped it on the table, and leaned forward with brows drawn low and black eyes glistening with inebriation.

“Go. Now. Any outcome is better than a lifetime of regret, trust me.”

***

Honestly, Jim wasn’t that drunk. All he had is a pleasant buzz fogging his mind and numbing his tongue – the one that simply enabled the creativity of the sober part of his brain; the one that suggested him a perfect excuse to visit Spock, thinking why the hell this idea didn’t come before.

So he made a quick stop by the store to get ingredients for a seafood paella, and took a short walk from the Headquarters to the Starfleet apartment complex. A couple of pedestrians sideeyed him; he had no idea why.

Soon enough he was pressing the buzzer on the door identical to thousands of others in the building, only now thinking that Spock might not even be home. But the door swished open – not all the way like automatic doors usually did, but a tiny bit, just enough for Spock to peek at the guest.

“Captain,” he said warily, eyes darting through the corridor to make sure Jim was the only one.

“Hello,” was the forcefully cheerful reply; for a few moments Jim simply stared with a besotted smile. Spock was the most beautiful picture he’s ever laid an eye on even in the plainest green tunic and pants.

“It is inadvisable to be at each other’s company at the moment,” Spock warned as Jim squeezed past him into the apartment. Spock didn’t stop him, only gazed at the bags suspiciously.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jim drawled with an exaggerated eye roll.

Spock narrowed his eyes.

“You are inebriated.”

“I drank just a tiny bit,” Jim pressed his fingers to show exactly how tiny, “with Regail. An advantage of having a Romulan PR agent is having a supply of damn good ale.”

At the mention of Regail’s name Spock’s lips tightened.

“I see. Why are you here?” He asked bluntly.

Jim’s apartment was simply too quiet right now.

“For your hands, obviously,” Jim replied brightly, maneuvering into the kitchen easily despite the first time being in Spock’s quarters, studying the surroundings closely in the meantime: he was always curious to see how Spock lived outside of the Enterprise.

Even though Spock’s apartment was smaller than the one Starfleet gave Jim it was still light and spacey. He didn’t have that many personal things displayed – Jim could only see the potted plant Lieutenant Mitko presented him with after her promotion as a sign of gratitude for mentoring her, an ornamental box they found two years ago on Ashuas, a conglomeration of crystals that were Uhura’s gift for the last New Year’s day that had magical healing abilities according to the natives’ lore, and three antique paper books that were Jim’s gift for his birthday – literature was one of the hobbies they shared, not so long ago Jim saw those very books on Spock’s desk on the ship. He assumed the rest of the gifts were back on the Enterprise; the fuzz that had nothing to do with inebriation warmed him from the inside at the thought that out of all his possessions Spock chose the books to bring along on the shore leave.

The rest of the apartment was Starfleet-issued: the same universal light grey surfaces and white fabrics.

“My... hands,” if Spock resorted to repetition, it meant he was thoroughly confused. “You have literally seen me use them at full capacity multiple times.”

His eyes followed each product appearing from Jim’s bags: rice, white wine, vegetables, saffron...

“Yeah,” Jim replied cheerfully, looking through the cupboards to find where Spock kept the utensils.

“The top one on the left,” Spock said. “What do my hands have to do with cooking,” he looked at one of the labels, “rice?”

“Paella. And this is mighty logical; your hands are still bandaged, so I thought this meant you don’t cook anything, you just use the replicator, and this is no way to spend shore leave, no matter how forced it is,” Jim started chopping the tomatoes quickly while Spock still seemed to be processing what’s going on. Maybe he thought it was a dream – not that he would ever dream of Jim coming to visit. “So I thought,  why not help a friend out? My Mom taught me how to cook a mean paella when I was a kid.”

Onions and peppers joined the tomatoes on the pan.

“You gesture of friendship is appreciated,” bewilderment slowly left Spock’s expression, giving place to disgruntlement as he took a medikit and a clean glass out of a cupboard. “However, this idea was clearly influenced by alcoholic substances you consumed in a display of unprofessionalism on Mr. Regail’s side–”

“I told you, I barely touched that ale, I barely even looked at it!”

“–and you will regret breaking our agreement to not be engaging outside of duty until the Halka incident comes to a closure.”

Jim sighed, closing his eyes briefly. No one was there to see them, he made sure he wasn’t followed, he wasn’t _stupid_ – why the hell was Spock that stubborn?

Instead of responding, he scooped some veggies on a fork and held it to Spock’s mouth.

“Try it. Good on spices for you?”

Spock stared at him accusingly for a long moment until seemingly giving up and accepting his fate and leaning forward.

His lips dragged over the fork slowly, and Jim’s hazy mind decided that _this_ would be the moment brandished into his memory forever and replayed over and over.

“More salt, please.”

Jim nodded, dragging his gaze back at the pan, and a glass of bubbling water appeared before him.

“This is meralthanine, it should counteract the effect of ethanol in your organism,” Spock said – apparently, his protect-Jim-from-stupid-shit-he-got-himself-into instinct kicked in, counteracting any thought of throwing him out in the street – and Jim drank the beverage dutifully, cringing at its sourness.

Maybe he was just really good at convincing himself, but Jim could already feel his mind sobering up as if the medicine sucked up all the fog into itself.

“Wow, I can feel my kidneys being reborn,” Jim pressed a hand against his stomach. “Why do you even have that, I thought Vulcans can’t get drunk?”

“That is an incorrect statement, I am simply not affected by ethanol like humans do, I can achieve inebriation in different ways. I have already informed you about this difference in our biology.”

“Yes, of course, of course, I remember,” Jim hummed innocently. “What _can_ get Vulcans drunk though?...”

He kept trying to fish with tidbit of information from Spock, but he has always dodged the question. Jim even asked Bones, but he cited the patient-doctor confidentiality, said he didn’t want to know why Jim needed that anyway, and kicked him out of Sickbay. Through the process of elimination he has figured out it had something to do with desserts; by the end of the mission he would have the exact product pinned down, he was certain of it.

Now, like always, Spock looked at him sternly and ignored the question.

“I have acquired meralthanine in apprehension of a situation similar to the current one,” he said, which translated into ‘I knew you’ll barge into my apartment drunk off your ass one day.’ Jim didn’t know if it said more about him or about Spock.

“What can I help you with?” Spock asked next, not-so-subtly changing the topic.

“Just sit back and enjoy. And maybe think of a place where we will sit,” Spock inclined his head in agreement and disappeared into the living room. The sanctuary of the bedroom was obviously off limits, even though Jim was dying to see it – maybe, if he let his dreams run wild, even be an active participant–

With a violent hit of a spatula in the pan he forced his mind back in the present; he rubbed his forehead, feeling a numb sort of feeling that was hovering on the edge between inebriation and hangover, and studied the kitchen. Like every other room it was extremely neat and rather bland compared to the Enterprise quarters, even the kitchenware seemed to be Starfleet-issued. Jim had this exact same shelf in his apartment, but his was filled with decorative plates, souvenirs from different planets, and… a set of holos of the bridge crew.

“Hey, Spock,” Jim asked thoughtfully, stirring the wine into the rice, “how come you don’t have any holos?”

Spock peeked out of the living room, plates in his hands.

“I do not need to be reminded about the appearance of the ones playing a significant part in my life.”

“Still, it’s nice,” Jim hummed. “I like seeing faces of the people I like when they’re not around.”

“I see no logic in displaying personal possessions in this apartment: it is merely a temporary place of residence I spend approximately fourteen days per year.”

“Your home is on the Enterprise,” Jim said, half-question, half-statement, unable to resist smiling at him with such warmth he was surprised Spock couldn’t read his emotions.

“In a sense,” Spock assented. “But even that one is temporary.”

“Every place is temporary,” Jim noted, “no one expects you to stay in stasis forever without moving forward. Doesn’t make it less of a home.”

“Perhaps,” Spock replied softly.

The living room windows offered them a nice view of the city; the Starfleet Headquarters building was visible from afar, rising amongst the city like a beacon.

Jim intended to sit on the couch like a proper guest, but ended up falling into it gracelessly, almost spilling the rice; the sweet regret of a hangover was already knocking on his head and he tried to suppress it. He was supposed to savour this moment, dammit!

Jim looked around curiously, searching for more glimpses of Spock’s personality (off-handedly, he thought about giving Spock a blanket or a hand-stitched pillow for whatever holiday came next to decorate the light grey coach blending into the environment), and, to his utter surprise, spotted a model of a starship carefully placed on top of a shelf. Curious, Jim approached it; upon closer inspection he noticed it was incomplete, the spare parts were placed in a box nearby and eventually were going to equip the model with a functioning engine that would allow it to fly about a hundred meters up.

“I didn’t know you collected models,” Jim said.

“It is not mine. I was visited by professor T’Kari’s daughter – my adopted sister,” Spock hesitated. “Saavik.”

Jim span around, nearly tripping on his own feet.

“Saavik? _Our_ Saavik?!”

“The fact we knew about her existence before she was born does not make her ours,” Spock said, but there was a barely noticeable humourous tilt in his voice. “However, you are correct; I have reasons to believe it is Saavik Ambassador Spock spoke of.”

The Ambassador delivered only the scarcest of information and the vaguest of hints that would make present day Spock jealous, and one of the few names he dropped was Lieutenant Saavik’s. All Jim knew was that she was a kind of both Kirk’s and Spock’s protege and played a huge part in some tragic event; he had no idea who her parents were, obviously – and now knowing it was T’Kari of all people (she _did_ tell him she has a daughter!), knowing the stars aligned this way to bring them all together even though so much has already changed in their timeline – witnessing it would make even the most diehard skeptic believe in destiny. That’s what Spock’s Vulcan legend meant, didn’t it.

That was a painful thing to think about, so Jim dragged his mind back into reality, and grinned.

“ _Our_ Saavik. Unbelievable,” he exclaimed, a smile threatening to split his face in two. “You should’ve told me right away; I’d love to meet her!! Can you introduce us?”

“I am afraid she would not understand the reason for the introduction, since she is not currently connected to you in any way she is allowed to know.”

“Maybe T’Kari has ready told her everything to know about parallel universes,” Jim shrugged. He would think of a million excuses if it meant meeting Saavik. “She is her mother after all. Multiverse theory should be her bedtime story, and if it’s not – then here’s an idea of your next babysitting activity.”

The mental image of Spock sitting by a child’s bed and reading a scientific text in an absolutely serious voice was just too adorable.

Spock shook his head. “Professor is very busy with research of the Taahtal-os and Halka now, and dedicated her time to supporting the colony before arriving to Earth, therefore she was unable to spend time with Saavik and, as you said, read her stories. Saavik has been taught by Vulcan school teachers so far.”

“Oh,” Jim dropped onto the couch again, this time with a lot more poise (in his opinion). A child spending their early years emotionally isolated from their mother resonated with him. “Is that why you were roped into babysitting duty?”

“The initiative was mine. She is my sister now, though not in blood; it is my duty to assist her.”

Jim smiled; in the end it didn’t matter that T’Kari chose her career over her child, Saavik was in good hands now. He would do a much better job anyway, Jim was certain. “Well, I’m glad she has you. I’m sure you’re great with kids,” he reached out to smoothen his erratically sticking hair.

Compliments were always falling off his lips before he could stop them, even before he realized his feelings for Spock were transforming, noticing only after McCoy pointed out he was unusually polite lately. Jim tried to control them afterwards, wary of Spock seeing too much in between the lines; but Spock never reacted, and eventually Jim got used to it, so he stopped filtering his words, praising Spock any chance he got. That’s what he deserved anyway.

This time, like always, Spock merely looked at him blankly.

“What makes you think this?”

“You had all those science ensigns to practice on.”

And there it was, a tremor at the corners of his lips, and any remaining traces of tension that might’ve been between them dissipated. Why was there even tension to begin with? This was Spock, his best friend, a person whose mere presence calmed him down in times of storm.

“That is a very unflattering characteristic of my – and _your_ – science crew.”

“Sad but true,” Jim lamented in an exaggerated fashion. “May I remind you about what happened when ensign Waters was left in change of the botany lab?” Spock shook his head silently, and forced his expression into stoicism, which meant he was so close to laughing he became aware of it – Jim considered this a win, even though he wished Spock wouldn’t have to hide from him. “So what is Saavik like, what’s she into? What Starfleet track she wants to be on?”

Spock’s eyebrow rose, as if to ask how did he guess the nature of Saavik’s career plans.

“She is at the age where she is interested in everything she is introduced to, but she seemed particularly fascinated with engineering, particularly the engine construction.”

“Aw, don’t worry,” Jim replied with teasing solemnity, “you still have time to bring her up as a true Chief Science Officer successor.”

“She is free to choose whatever path she prefers, I am not planning on influencing her decisions,” Spock deadpanned, and Jim laughed.

“Yeah, right. I wish I could see her…” He sighed. “You can easily call me when she comes again, say we need to discuss important ship business, or introduce me as your friend…”

Spock regarded him for a few moments, and finally said, “Your assumptions about holographs in my apartment were not accurate and I did not correct the error of your statement, for which I apologize. I have one that, I admit, I was reluctant to show you.”

“O-o-oh!” Jim grinned. “Is it an embarrassing picture?”

“It is not,” Spock stood up to open a drawer and pulled out a holograph from underneath some neatly stacked padds. “I simply do not understand why Professor insisted we take it. But I see no reason to conceal it from you since it is what you wish,” he placed the holo into Jim’s hands, and Jim stared.

It was a picture of four: Sarek and T’Kari in the middle, with Spock and Saavik at the sides, all perfectly composed with solemn expressions fitting a funeral. A perfect pureblood Vulcan family – Spock’s half-blood nature wasn’t obvious on sight. Jim’s eyes were glued to Saavik instantly: the top of her head barely reached Spock’s waist, even with a cap of black curls sticking in every direction (they were a lot messier that he expected, and lacked the silly bowlcut); there was a determined twist to her lips and a stubborn set of the tilted brows over jet-black eyes Jim instantly fell in love with. At first he wondered why Sarek didn’t ask her to tame the hair and wear more Vulcan-styled clothes, but then again, obviously it was T’Kari who was the leader in this relationship. Jim was pleased to see she actually seemed to allow Saavik a lot more freedom than Sarek ever gave Spock.

He touched the edge of a curl; the mere idea that this kid was Spock’s little sister, even if not in blood, made Jim want to pat her head and build a starship model with her, and then oversee her training for the Academy and pack her lunches every day.

“I _have_ to meet her,” Jim said vehemently, placing the holo on the table to face them, and Spock turned away to collect the plates and carry them to the kitchen, replacing them with cups of refreshing mint tea.

“I shall consider it,” his evasive reply was.

The silence fell on them for a while, with Jim alternating between staring at Saavik out of the corner of his eye and at Spock, fingers wrapped around the cup, which shouldn’t have been such an attractive gesture, but it was. Spock’s tea was godly compared to the bean water T’Kari had; its aroma weaved into comfortable solitude. The silence between them wasn’t oppressing, it never was.

“I dreamt of a guy who looks just like you,” Jim said and immediately wanted to slap himself – where did that come from? Must be the damn blue poison. Definitely not Jim finding an excuse to talk freely.  “Mostly because it _was_ you. Appearance-wise. Strangest thing.”

“I see,” Spock said after a pause, because what else could be a logical reply to such a statement. “Was my presence in your dreams disconcerting?”

“No – not that I dream about you often of course,” Jim laughed nervously, “it’s just – the dream itself was strange. More lucid than ever before. Like a vision. A… real vision.”

“Ah. I see,” Spock repeated thoughtfully. There was another pause; he probably tried to process a way to lower the awkwardness levels. “Perhaps you should stop carrying the Halkan mineral with you.”

“No!” Jim’s hand flew up to the pendant instantly. He didn’t know why he was this protective all of a sudden.

“As you wish,” Spock hesitated. “What did my image tell you?”

“Just some vague warnings about bad things to come. An impending disaster. About death.”

Spock’s lips thinned, as if he knew what Jim was talking about. This put Jim on alert immediately; of course, he assumed vision’s warning was about Jim’s own death, but what if Spock knew something he didn’t?...

“Any idea what he meant?” Jim asked carefully.

“Any death would be unfortunate,” Spock said. Of course, ever the pacifist. It was strange that he didn’t ask Jim not listen to visions and believed him on the spot – maybe years on the Enterprise has taught him immediate skepticism isn’t the most effective way for an explorer to work.

“He also talked about connections…” Jim continued. “And how those connections should be fulfilled.”

Spock wasn’t stupid, he would understand the unsaid words. Maybe that was Jim’s mistake – maybe if he pressed he would’ve gotten his answer; but Spock took the leeway Jim was consciously giving him and stayed silent.

Jim supposed it was his fault: every time they had those ambiguous conversations about friendship and loyalty that could lead somewhere, he never pushed. He couldn’t afford rejection on the Enterprise, and of course, he couldn’t afford it now, when they had no idea what their future held.

Jim stared at his cup; empty this time, no way around it.

In the end he hauled himself on his feet and moved back to the kitchen to put the cup away – and started.

Under the fridge, unnoticed, a purple flower lied: a violet with tender petals he admired so much the other day.

Jim picked it up; it was fresh, obviously dropped not so long ago – maybe even earlier this day, before Spock had a chance to clean up and find it. A flower Jim immediately recognized as the one from Rand’s hair.

He nearly crashed the delicate petals as something dark rose inside of him – to think Spock was so hesitant to let him in while Rand was admitted freely, was in his kitchen, _Rand_ , a woman whom Spock was never even close with…

Or was he?

Spock was subtle, and Rand could keep her mouth shut if she wanted too, and Spock _did meld_ with her according to the reports; what if despite having nothing in common–

Hearing Spock’s steps in the back, Jim dropped the flower back on the floor, realizing how idiotic he sounded. He wasn’t about to have a fit of jealousy over a single flower; he had no right to in any case.

So what if he and Rand were growing closer? He has always advocated for friendships between his crewmembers. Logically, Jim realized it would be good for Spock to broaden his social circle and have more friends – but a selfish part of him always wanted to hoard Spock all to himself. Sometimes it reached ridiculous lengths, like that one time with the Betazoid ambassador (what _did_ they talk about for hours after going down to the labs? She was a diplomat, not a scientist, there was no way she could introduce him to anything new)...

Just what he was trying to prove.

The damn ale was heightening his dark side, no doubt. Stupid Romulans and their Romulan… stuff.

“Spock,” Jim said suddenly, “what’s going on?”

Spock must’ve sensed the change in his tone.

He glanced around quickly, as if expecting the apartment to be bugged. “I have no new information about the mirror yet.”

“No, I mean – what’s going on with you? Why all the unnecessary secrecy? I thought there was no need for it anymore.”

“Nothing I do is unnecessary,” Spock parried.

Jim huffed.

“I thought we’re in this together. Everything is over, we can stop pretending we’re idiots who fell for Samoilov’s scheme of pushing us apart.”

“Is it, really?”

Spock looked at him seriously – and Jim found nothing he could reply.

He made his gesture of friendship. He warned Spock about the vision. He even earned a bonus: seeing Saavik.

The meeting has come to its logical ending.

He hoped Spock would ask him to stay for the evening, maybe even for the night – but he was sober enough to realize this hope was futile.

He reached towards the shelf to close the door, and his fingers collided with Spock’s, sending a thrill up his spine in a way such a simple gesture had no right to cause.

He should’ve apologized and step back, but at that moment – later, of course, he would blame it on stupid Romulan alcohol – it seemed like a perfect idea to tighten the grip around Spock’s fingers. Spock seemed to be paralyzed, standing with his hand outstretched, and when he tried to move it away awkwardly Jim only gripped him tighter.

An insistent voice in Jim’s mind nagged, _‘Talk to him, talk to him, tell him the truth’_ – it sounded as a mix of vision-Spock and the man hunched over an empty bottle of ale, so different from the usually happy-go-lucky Regail. Silence meant a lifetime of regret – but the consequences of a failed confession were much more dire.

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that fear of losing Spock overcame all else.

For the first time Jim was grateful Spock’s telepathy wasn’t fully restored yet.

“Captain,” Spock’s voice was strained as he tugged his hand away once again, “please release me.”

Jim stared hard at him – and let his fingers slip away.

“Sorry.”

“You have nothing to apologize for.”

“Guess it’s time to say goodbye then?”

Spock nodded. “Goodbye, Jim.”

That answer came so easy for him.

***

Laying in the bed, eyes glued to the ceiling pressing down on him, lit by flares of passing cars, Jim kind of expected the vision Spock to show up again. He even held the pendant close to his head – but, of course, he never did. Maybe it was for the best; what more could the vision give him? Detaching himself from reality to be lost in imaginary kisses with the man who would never kiss him in real life wasn’t healthy, and as for warnings about death… One was enough.

“Message received, thanks,” Jim told the pendant.

The pendant rotated slowly in response, turning its shiny back on him, reflecting orange street light in a light blue gemstone inserted in it.

With a heavy sigh, Jim dropped it and dragged himself out of the bed, giving up on the idea of sleeping tonight.

He flipped the communicator open and close several times until finally making a decision and opening a recording app. He took a deep breath and began:

“Hi, Spock, Bones…”

***

Spock has long since accepted that he would never be needed or wanted by anyone for his persona – the only way to be useful was to do his job perfectly, which was exactly what he did. Still, sometimes, when his shields were lowered after a particularly taxing day the crashing feeling of loneliness snuck upon him uninvited, wrapping his insides in its slimy chill. In times like that Spock reminded himself that it was illogical to feel this way: there was no way to change his biology and make someone – a very particular person – desire him. If he allowed this shameful emotion to control him he would stop being an efficient asset, losing the reason to be among the amazing people who laughed and smiled and loved each other in so many senses of the word, some of which he lacked the ability to comprehend.

Spock told himself self-pity was a wasteful indulgence he didn’t earn, and yet… and yet.

Once, they were transporting a Betazoid ambassador on the Enterprise. As people interested in science, Loreen and Spock found a lot of common points of interest and spent much off-duty time together. One of their more intellectually stimulating discussions was about the evolution of empathy and telepathy and advantages of one compared to the other, which smoothly transformed into a more personal conversation where Loreen shared the troubles her mind was plagued with after the death of her father and brother.

“How do you do that? How do you bear so much pain?” She asked quietly, her black eyes warm with bittersweet reminiscence.

Spock would have evaded the answer in other circumstances, but the constant yearning to help whoever was in need that formed the entirety of his conscious life prevailed.

“You accept pain as a part of who you are,” he told Loreen, “integrate it within yourself until it does not intrude your mind anymore. This is the Vulcan way.”

But pain couldn’t just go away without a trace; it was concealed, but still present, poisoning Spock and everyone who would touch his mind – the latter amounted to zero, Spock made sure of it.

“I am not a suitable partner for you, Nyota,” he said before they were about to embark on the five-year mission. What he really meant was, _I am not a suitable partner for anyone._

They were better off as friends and colleagues. This was freeing for both, no longer did they have shackles of pretending to be something they weren’t anymore; now they could actually talk to each other without tension penetrating every word, and Spock even welcomed Nyota’s desire to discuss nonsensical gossip.

He was glad to see her happy in a close relationship with Mr. Scott: he had no knowledge whether it was platonic or not, he made a point not to intrude in Nyota’s personal life; she would tell him whenever she seemed fit. Mr. Scott was an exceptional man in his own way – after all, he was probably the only one who never commented on his race or heritage, who simply didn’t seem to care about the differences in rank and upbringing. Even with today’s diverse world, such pure acceptance was a rare gem.

As a child, he used to suffer because he couldn’t find anyone who would accept him, but it became easier the moment he understood the root of suffering. Vulcan discipline helped him.

Accept it and move on.

Nyota has apparently mastered that discipline as well; she understood, accepted, and went forward without wallowing in the past – hopefully to find the happiness she deserved.

Spock wished he could follow his own advice just as smoothly, but there was an obstacle, and its name was Jim Kirk.

If Spock found himself in such a situation five years ago, his mind would’ve screamed and cried with want of having his t’hy’la so close yet unable to claim him – he would’ve been tortured with desire to fulfill the bond; but as his mind was already in tatters after the loss of Vulcan, his need was simply lost in the haze of background pain.

With his Vulcan urges suppressed all that was left were human emotions, much harder to get a grip on.

(He would be great with kids, Jim said. In reality, Spock didn’t have any valuable life wisdom to teach Saavik.)

Jim asked him where his home was, and even though Spock agreed with Jim’s idea, he knew _everything_ was temporary for him. Even Jim’s vision, probably caused by the longing Spock felt and his heightened susceptibility to psionic activity, reminded him that Spock’s time was almost over.

He sighed; an expense of being around humans too much, perhaps. T’Kari was correct in her assessment when she said with so little Vulcans left and them being distributed around the galaxy they were bound to lose their culture.

The mission he had was difficult. Spock’s mindset wasn’t trained to stand up to an ambiguous threat that clouded the air, tinging it with smell of smoke.

Samoilov didn’t steal the mirror to use it, that much was clear. In Spock’s short list of suspects one had no evidence against them and the other had no motive Spock could see. Although humans were always mysteries for him.

It was akin to standing in a pitch blackness, senses disabled, arms tied. Intuition wasn’t a trait he possessed; relying on vagueness and something undetermined was against his nature, and yet...

A much bigger scheme was brewing, the evidence was indicating it.

Spock didn’t plan on dedicating this shore leave to getting in trouble, he wasn’t even involved in the latest incident; and yet he was finding himself in the middle of disturbance – first the trial, now the mirror… Someone was forcing him into their schemes, and he was afraid they didn’t do it because of _him_ : he was unremarkable. Their opponent was smart, they knew his weaknesses.

They could use Spock to get to Jim.

He would give up anything for Jim’s safety, and if it meant putting a distance between them – just like Jim did with Winona, he _must_ understand the necessity – well, it was just another worthy sacrifice.

***

The next morning Jim felt like his body and mind were separate entities. His body refused to leave the bed, so he dragged it out, threw himself into the shower, forced himself behind the wheel (he didn’t trust himself with a bike) and finally stumbled into the office feeling all kinds of broken.

To be fair, Regail looked even worse; the humorous light in his eyes replaced by gloss of a tiredness, artfully cut bangs were in disarray as if he was running his hands through them.

Head hung low and not seeing Jim, Regail was muttering into his communicator, “I’m sorry, _I know_ – I’m so so sorry–”

He stopped, listening to whatever the person in the end on the line was saying, expression turning more crestfallen with every second, and finally snapped his communicator shut, sighing deeply and dropping his head into his arms, as Jim stepped into the office carefully.

Regail replied with an incoherent mumble to Jim’s greeting and seemed to sink deeper into himself. His miserable state almost make Jim forget about his own fiasco, mood shifting into helping another.

“Was that your wife?” He asked, leaning forward. “Do you... need help reuniting with her?”

Regail’s expression darkened. “I shouldn’t have told you anything. I was drunk and sentimental,” he groaned and dropped his head into his hands again. “God, _what_ did I even tell you yesterday? Did I give you any advice? I know what I’m like when I’m trashed, I turn into this old man who tries to teach everyone the wisdom of life. Did I tell you to follow your heart? Or to believe in yourself?”

“Something like that, yeah,” Jim answered lightly to take the burden off him.

Regail made a miserable hiccuping sound.

“I’m so, so sorry – please tell me you didn’t actually do any of this.”

“I didn’t – well, sort of,” Jim shrugged. “I did visit Spock, but I didn’t confess my undying love or anything. My brain didn’t _completely_ fly out of the window.”

Jim didn’t know what made him want to say words “Spock” and “love” in the same sentence for the first time, even if it was wrapped in a thickness of sarcastic joking tone, to Regail of all people. He’s never told anyone that, not even McCoy – although McCoy was perceptive enough to figure everything out on his own, of course.

Perhaps because he saw a reflection of his own future is Regail’s story, and he wanted to prove he wasn’t following the natural progression of things.

Regail was right about the lifetime of regret; the lifetime that, if the vision was to be believed, was even shorter than he imagined.

“Oh good,” Regail finally looked at him with clear relief in his eyes. “ _What would Regail do?_ should be your life motto, expect for times like this,” he squinted. “I hope my beautiful holo isn’t collecting dust somewhere in your apartment.”

The truth was, it was collecting dust inside his desk’s locker, forgotten among old padds, data chips, and styluses. Now Jim felt bad for the man – and while not bad enough to put his holo among the ones of the crew, he should probably at least take it out from under a pile of trash.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally I've merged together all the symbolism of this fic into a single line: "there was a wall between them, and the wall was a reversed pyramid." My favourite line, I think. Because I love the pyramid-as-a-metaphor-for-happiness thing I use here.
> 
> The funny thing is, when vision!Spock gives his warning, both Jim and Spock misinterpret it, thinking it refers to them personally, when in really "death" refers something different...
> 
> I enjoyed writing Regail's backstory a lot, because I like him, and not just because it's a parallel to Jim's/Spock's possible future haha.
> 
> And.... Saavik. I was so looking forward to this chapter because I dreamt about including a young Saavik here, even as a background character! And I REALLY wanted to make her Spock's sister, that's why I made her T'Kari's daughter - thankfully, we know nothing about her parents in canon, so I guess it's okay :D
> 
> Jim cooks paella because that's one of the few complex meals I know how to cook x)
> 
> Thank you guys for leaving kudos and comments. They are the only reason I continue writing this.  
> Also I encourage you to visit [ST:W tag on my tumblr!](http://leifor.tumblr.com/tagged/st%3Aw) I post art and notes about this fic there. And if you ever want to draw something for either st:w or st:m I will love you forever.


	7. The Lie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rand tells her story. People die. The team reunites. Spock makes a mistake.  
> Jim pays the price.  
> It's showtime.

Jim assured himself that soon Enid will go down: all he needed was one photo.

Next Friday, when Enid glid into Jim’s line of sight in a glorious shine of haughty aplomb – the temporary office already filled with Regail’s unyielding chatter – he had his communicator ready under the desk, arranging his features into the most innocent look at the same time.

She sat down, a handful of heart-shaped glitter falling out of her hair and clothes with the motion, and stared directly at Jim, as if feeling what he was about to do.

But Jim could wait. And he waited, muscles tight in anticipation, one hand hovering above the communicator, fingers twitching impatiently, occasionally mumbling something indecipherable that hopefully sounded approving enough in response to Regail.

And finally, the moment Enid’s robot eyes lowered into the padd he rose the communicator, holding the camera lens barely a millimeter above the desk, snapped a picture, fired it off to Scotty, and deleted the evidence with a swipe of a finger – all in a matter of a millisecond.

He was just sliding the communicator back inside his jeans when Enid’s gaze pinned him down again – for a second, he was certain she saw him and was about to berate him, but she looked back down, and Jim breathed a sigh of relief.

Now it was up to Scotty.

***

Imagine an enormous hotel built from colourful solar panels, designed to host thousands of people at once with all the accompanying commotion like a constant string of taxis, suitcases, and people changing one room for another. Now remove any neat amenities like room service or all-you-can-eat breakfasts, add the endless buzz about space, future missions, and exploration of new worlds and you’ll have Starfleet’s apartment complex. Fifteen skyscrapers with apartments that some officers used as an aforementioned hotel for the shore leave time, and some rented for the entire duration of their service in the Fleet and could call home.

Uhura was the latter: buying an apartment in the city seemed wasteful when one was provided to her so conveniently. Many followed the same train of thought; she knew Jim Kirk and Marlena Moreau lived on the twentieth floor above her, and Spock and Christine Chapel lived in the neighbouring building.

Scotty, on his part, was a proud owner of a small apartment on the shore he never visited; most of the time he ended up hanging out at Uhura’s place anyway. Right now he was on her couch covered by a handmade quilt, bent over a padd with the latest message from Jim opened – Enid’s face displayed like a religious painting they weren’t supposed to see – and fingers readied for excessive typing. Hers wasn’t a face either he or Uhura recognized, yet they got what Jim meant by ‘unnerving’: there were some certain bad vibes coming from her, even from the candid picture. It’s like there was something slightly off about her otherwise normal human face, but no one could grasp what it was.

As soon as the photo Jim managed to snatch was in their hands Scotty uploaded it into the facial recognition program; and now all that was left for Uhura and him was to hypnotize the screen in anticipation.

“Don’t expect a quick result,” Scotty sighed, even though he was a thousand times giddier than Uhura, “that makeup she smeared all over her face covers half of her features. The program will be able to recognize only particular features, like the shape of lips or nose. It’ll find multiple match-ups,” he pointed at the rapidly flashing IDs of the Starfleet personnel, both permanent and temporary: it was the only database they managed to obtain by relatively legal means.

“Should we feed the Romulan’s face to the machine too while we’re at it?” Uhura asked, settling on the couch more comfortably – it’s going to be a long wait.

“Already did it, he’s legit,” on his communicator, Scotty brought up a holo of a middle school class, where a Romulan boy was in the centre of a fully human group. “Studied at Anwatin School at Minneapolis, won awards for excessive Arts and Crafts knowledge or something, then went to Vulcan to study healing in attempt to prove Romulans were genetically capable of the same telepathy as Vulcans; then failed and started his PR career, all his recorded contact with Enid was purely professional. He was never involved in any criminal activity.”

Uhura shrugged in response; one couldn’t be too careful.

“Did you find anything else about those memory losses?” Scotty asked, and she shook her head, disappointed.

“No. Whoever did it didn’t just bury the real memories, they erased them completely. Very clear-cut, very professional.”

It was nothing like any technology they’ve ever heard of, and it was kind of unsettling; if Uhura’s memory was erased she wouldn’t have any idea. Although she didn’t seem to have perfectly clear memories about eating obscure foods, like the other victims did, so perhaps the culprit didn’t take an interest in her, after all.

“But at the same time they had no precision at all,” she continued, “they erased the memories, but they did nothing to cover their tracks: especially with Jim, it’s obvious we’d figure out something was wrong once we ask why he didn’t show up at the trial. He would never miss it for something so trivial.”

“Well, Samoilov expected to die, didn’t he, if he was carrying around that cyanide capsule. So maybe he didn’t expect to live long enough to see us figuring out the memories were gone.”

Sometimes they wondered if they even _had_ to dig that deep: maybe it was all just Samoilov’s plan, maybe he didn’t have any accomplices; after all, the memory losses and other incidents stopped after his death. But there were still unanswered questions, like Samoilov’s motivation; Scotty even suggested he was so ashamed of his failure he couldn’t live with it. And if Jim suspected Enid was involved – even though she could just be a reclusive woman afraid to have her pictures in public access due to paranoia – they trusted Jim.

In this mess there was only one thing Scotty, an expert, was certain of.

“Samoilov's plan didn't have a chance of working. When you heard he was on the shipyard, what was the first idea that came to your mind?”

“That he was copying the impostors’ plan of installing the mirror into the ship – and that’s exactly what he did?” Uhura wondered where Scotty was going with this.

“Exactly. But that ship could never fly – the others may have overlooked it, but I know those designs, it couldn't be fixed, it was objectively the worst model: perfect for a hideout, sure, but why on Earth would he install a mirror on a ship that's not meant to rise? And even if he wanted to stay on the ground – he had plenty of time to test the Field by killing someone – Jim and Mr. Spock for example, he saw them coming, he had surveillance all over the place – I’m grateful he didn’t, of course, but it makes no sense! Maybe that's why he took that capsule, so that we'll be tortured by a mystery,” Scotty waved his fingers with a bitter undertone.

“No, Uhura said slowly, “he didn't do it for the mystery. He did it so that we won't get any answers from him – because he wasn't the one responsible for this, he was controlled... Mind-controlled?” She suggested, looking at Scotty questioningly.

Enid came because Samoilov leaked the recordings. Enid could've _made_ Samoilov leak the recordings, then halting their investigation by creating the memory erasure fuss...

Uhura straightened, sensing an answer flittering in the air like a ribbon, just out of her reach – and then she deflated, sighing. As always, there was some inconsistency that prevented her from forming a working theory.

After all, everything was seemingly okay: no new memory loss occurrences, the main suspect was destroyed, as was his goal – the mirror; nothing else seemed to be happening… So far.

Uhura watched the program firing away – with the enormous amount of people in the database it was merely at 1% so far, even with working at top speed. Not for the first time she wondered if their activities weren't spotted because they were good at conspiring or because the mastermind was simply allowing them to do this as long as they weren’t causing any harm.

Perhaps she was simply paranoid after being in the parallel universe.

A sharp knock ar at the door interrupted her train of thought; she and Scotty exchanged quick worried glances.

However, the opened door revealed not Enid Whitethorn, not Federation Security, but Janice Rand – a sight more surprising than a security officer.

“Good day, Ms. Uhura, Mr. Scott! Can I borrow a cup of sugar?” She asked, her wide grey eyes, freckled face, and red hair decorated with dandelions creating an image of pure innocence.

“I don’t own products,” Uhura said, apologetic, “not after Monty upgraded my replicator to the same OS the Council allegedly uses,” Scotty nodded solemnly along with her words. “What happened to your replicator?”

Rand edged into the apartment a little, looking over Uhura’s shoulder. “Totally blasted.”

“I can fix it while we wait,” Scotty suggested, and backtracked when Rand tilted her head in curiosity at the word _wait_ , “I mean... I’m not busy at the moment. Won’t take long.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” Rand squinted as she leaned sideways for a better view of the computer.

“Janice, what’s going on?” Uhura’s tone was gentle, but in a way that could turn authoritative any moment. It was obvious this sugar nonsense was just a coverup.

Rand’s gaze snapped back. “Nothing! If you don’t have sugar, I’ll just go ask my other neighbours.”

Uhura sighed. “Janice, anyone else could’ve believed you – but we _know_ you. What’s really going on? You can tell us anything.”

Rand seemed to struggle internally for a few seconds, and finally came to a decision, visibly steeling herself.

“Okay,” she relented. “Mr. Spock told me not to tell anyone, even the people he trusted,” she gestured at them, “he couldn’t risk any of you getting exposed and fired while the investigation was going on… But I think it’s safe enough here…” She entered the apartment fully, allowing the door to close; Scotty confirmed the place’s safety with a nod. It seemed to be all the confirmation she needed, because after another sweeping look over the apartment she smiled proudly.

“Mr. Spock needed a spy – yours truly,” she pressed a hand to her chest.

“A _spy_?” Scotty echoed, eyebrows raised. “Why you?”

“Because I’m the best person for the job,” Rand grinned, strolling towards the computer confidently. “I was the only one who received their evaluation results within a day. They let me off the hook quite easily, and we decided to use it,” she sat on the couch, followed by both Scotty and Uhura. “It all started back when he asked me to copy the mirror’s configuration from the bridge of the Enterprise on that pendant – the two of us were the only people who knew about that back then, and it was natural for him to…” She fiddled with the edge of her yellow dress. “Well, I guess it _really_ started when he melded with me to give me instructions. It is a very intimate process in his culture, and every meld, no matter what circumstances it was carried out in, leaves an unerasable trace. So in his weakened state it was natural for him to reach out towards a person with whom a link – however faint – was recently established.”

Uhura raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Did _Spock_ tell you all that? With words from the mouth?”

Rand shrugged. “Not really. I kinda gained an understanding after that, you know? Maybe when he was passing me those instructions he accidentally let something else slip. Or maybe I’m just very good at reading people,” she winked. “So, when Mr. Spock received the court martial summons, I became his eyes and ears. His new instructions were clear: do not say a word to anyone and lie whenever possible in an utterly nonsensical way – I was so happy to be recognized for my talents,” she bowed in mock solemnity. “We should use the enemy’s techniques, he said, that is, throwing dust into their eyes by distracting them with something flashy and absurd.”

“The enemy?” Uhura frowned.

“I’m sure he meant The Enemy in general,” Rand circled her arms widely and leaned forward, looking at them seriously. “Like the government. They’ve been hiding lots of secrets from us innocent citizens, you know,” she lowered her voice, “like the fact that aliens exist.”

“The ali– Wait, what?” Uhura blinked, feeling like her brain’s just short-circuited.

Rand’s eyes crinkled as she clapped Uhura’s shoulder lightly. “Like I said, I’m simply the best person for the job. Anyway, once Mr. Spock received the summons, he suspected something was amiss: if someone wanted to target the Enterprise crew, it would be easier to pick any of you and say you’ve been, I don’t know, replaced by imposters, or went insane, but they let you go after the evaluation… They were targeting Mr. Spock specifically. So he decided to act – by protecting Captain’s Kirk mind, for example.”

“He did what?!”

Rand smiled, pleased with the effect her words had. “Oh yes, Captain Kirk’s memories were never fully erased! He used a code word to signal Mr. Spock that something was wrong, and that’s when he realized someone’s scheme was taking shape, and a list of suspects was starting to solidify. When the time for the art exhibition came, he thought of it as a good opportunity to observe some of the suspects. Of course, he guessed that Mr. Samoilov was the main culprit, after Captain Kirk hinted on it, but he had to have accomplices. Mr. Spock started to suspect the people who tried to get closer to Captain Kirk: the Romulan, who came out of nowhere and was spending an awful lot of time alone with the Captain, Miss Moreau, who tried to befriend him, and even Professor T’Kari, who seemed to be overly amicable towards him – although, as he explained, she had a personal reason for that too.”

“Are you certain suspicion was the only reason…” Uhura muttered.

“Mr. Spock asked me to keep an eye on them,” Rand continued, “all three has access to private information regarding the mirror, especially the latter two, who assisted him with research. After the mirror got destroyed, we figured it left the only target: Halka itself. And _very few_ people knew enough to make a new mirror out of the planet.”

She considered the computer, the program stuck at 9%.

“And why did you come to us?” Scotty asked.

“Mr. Spock asked me to keep an eye on Captain Kirk today, but he's not in his apartment so I came to see what you're up to.”

“Why today?” Uhura frowned. Something cold settled in her stomach.

“Mr. Spock says he reckons something will happen. The ship that was guarding Halka has reported a malfunction and is awaiting a replacement crew.”

A brief but heavy silence settled over them.

“If you ask me,” Uhura said, “that's enough secrets to keep from each other.”

She and Scotty stared at each other for a second and reached for the communicator at the same time, hands bumping.

“You're right,” Scotty snapped his fingers, as Uhura started typing messages to four people they wanted to see the most right now, “I think it’s time we get the band back together.”

***

In Ambassador Sarek’s apartment, Spock's communicator beeped, distracting him from a very enjoyable process of teaching Saavik the basics of Andorian language. She was a very quick learner and had a good grasp of pronunciation for a three-year-old.

Spock flipped the communicator open, frowning internally when he saw Rand’s name displayed as the caller ID. The fact she was calling Spock directly was a sign of trouble.

“Mr. Spock!” She began the moment he picked up, without waiting for his acknowledgment, “I've been talking to Ms. Uhura and Mr. Scott and we found something _really weird_ ,” Spock could hear the indistinguishable chatter of the other two in the background. “Can you come over to Ms. Uhura’s apartment? We are waiting for Mr. Sulu and Dr. McCoy too!” She put emphasis on the last names, which made Spock decide on the course of action immediately.

“Yes,” he glanced at Saavik, who failed to conceal the curious glances she was shooting him every two seconds. “My sister cannot be left alone due to her age, I will bring her along as well.”

“Oh, a child!” Rand exclaimed. “Fun!”

***

“To two weeks of success,” Regail announced, pouring _lhiet_ juice from one of the infinite bottles he had stashed in his briefcase.

Jim disagreed with the ‘success’ part – no matter what Regail said about the progress, he still didn’t see much development apart from a drastic decrease in his spare time – but couldn’t refuse the most delicious beverage he’s ever tasted.

His initial hostility towards Regail has long since passed, and now Jim thought there was a chance of them actually becoming friends – especially since he had so little time to catch up with old friends. Besides, they were certainly busy with their own personal lives.

Compared to the rest of the work with Regail, this day has started slowly: there was no Enid, definitely a plus, and Regail seemed to prefer to expatiate on vague topics instead of trying to stuff Jim’s brain with details about what placement of a link on a website would get more clicks.

“One of the skills any newsmaker must have,” Regail was speaking solemnly, waving his hands meaningfully, “is perfect reaction to be able to deliver a plan of action the moment you learn about the change of circumstances. You’ve got to be cunning, you’ve got to be quick – it’s not just a job, it’s art in its purest form,” Regail waved his hands so wildly he almost hit Jim’s nose. “And people underestimate its power so much. When someone talks about mind manipulation you always think direct action, controlling thoughts, erasing memories, the Vulcan mind melding... I’ve tried learning it when I was younger, you know.”

“You did?” Jim asked, surprised.

“Yeah, I’ve lived on Vulcan for a while, I wondered if I could prove Romulans were capable of the same things Vulcans did, us being related species. I failed, of course,” he shrugged, as if to say, no big deal. “Anyway, after that I thought – why would I even want to learn melding? I can achieve the same effect with marketing. It’s much more subtle, and it may take a long time for the desired effect to take on, but it’s almost always permanent: once the idea is planted in a mind,” he pressed a finger to his temple, “it’s very difficult to efface. Have some carefully placed information, and you can scatter the attention of a person away from what you are trying to hide – or drop a single hint to make them focus on what you need.”

“So…” Jim began, unsure where to go with this revelation, “you like manipulating people?”

Regail pressed a hand to his chest. “Oh, no-no-no, I only use my superpowers for good. I helped you, didn’t I?” He smiled. “I realize how bad it sounds, but you can’t blame me for being awed by a source of incredible power; I have a certain fascination with how easily people will believe the dumbest things if they’re presented correctly. Delivering news is like weaving a magic spell,” he said, breathy. “You say words, simple words – right time, right place, right intonation – and you can get people to follow your whims. Want the public to fall in love with a serial killer? What to destroy a government? Want to turn a war hero into a scapegoat? Want people to believe Earth is flat?” Regail slammed his palms on the table, fire in his eyes. “You make news. One small lie is all it takes to create a mob.”

Regail would’ve made a great lecturer, Jim thought. By the end of his speeches the students would’ve left convinced there is literally nothing more important in life than whatever he was talking about.

Regail’s bright smile faded.

“It’s sad we won’t see each other after this is over though.”

“Well, we can still be... friends,” Jim suggested after a moment of hesitation.

Regail avoided looking at him.

“Yes, it would be nice,” he offered Jim a glass-free hand and smiled, a little strained, as if the friendship proposition was too much for him. “You’re a very good person, Mr. Kirk, did you know that? I like you a lot,” he shook his hand with the usual intensity.

“Uh, thanks?” Jim replied. “...You know, if you keep shaking my hand like that you’re gonna rip it off one day.”

Regail laughed and let go – and the moment he did, the door behind Jim whooshed. Regail’s glass slipped through his fingers and landed on the table with a clunk.

Jim spun around to see Enid, her sharp silhouette in another ridiculous dress dark against the overhead lights, her usual necklace sparkling with fake gemstones. He was put on alert immediately: there was something terrifying about the way her yellow sliced like twin lasers across the room. Jim tensed, collecting himself for _something,_ and once again regretted not having anything to protect Regail and himself with.

Jim looked back at Regail, taking in his expression of disbelief – his fingers were trembling.

“I didn’t expect to see you today,” Regail was saying. “Why are you – what are you doing here?”

Disbelief was slowly transforming into dawning horror – and at the last word Regail's eyes flew wide as if in pain.

“No,” he whispered, looking over Jim's head. “Please, you promised–”

Jim swirled around just in time to see the slick black glisten of the phaser held by an unwavering hand – and without a moment of hesitation Enid pulled the trigger.

The phaser blast struck straight at Regail's forehead, and with a last flail of his hands, his body was thrown away from the desk, crashing down with a sickening sound, leaving a trail of green blood on the polished surface of the floor.

Enid didn't spare the body another glance, turning the phaser on Jim.

For a shortest moment, she did nothing, and Jim stared at her, completely still, the pit in his stomach weighing down, the silence pressing heavily all around him; Enid observed his every motion, watching his reaction. Jim eyes flickered to the side in search of a substitute for a weapon and his muscles tensed in preparation to dive, and that’s when Enid moved.

The last thing he saw was Enid’s finger brushing over the ‘stun’ switch before the room dissolved into blackness.

***

With a clutter, a padd slipped out of Saavik’s hands as she doubled over in the passenger’s seat. Having just pulled up on the parking lot next to Starfleet’s apartment complex Spock hit the brakes immediately, facing her.

“Saavik, what is wrong?”

She shook her head, eyes squeezed shut and fingers pressed to her temples.

“I am… uncertain,” she muttered. “The sensation can be compared to… to… I cannot describe it. I...”

Traces of frustration she couldn’t control yet coloured her voice; her face scrunched up, and a single tear slipped down her cheek.

Spock regretted once again the injury that didn’t allow him to meld with her fully. The only thing he could offer was–

“May I be permitted to assess your mental state?”

Saavik nodded; she was probably just as eager to find out what the problem was.

Any skin contact was sufficient to grant access to the forefront of Saavik’s emotional turmoil: Spock chose to press their foreheads together.

***

By the time Spock and Saavik got to Uhura’s apartment, McCoy and Sulu were already there.

McCoy jumped to his feet immediately; he might not know who Saavik was or even what species she was, but he read into the signs of distress in her body language.

“Are you well?” He asked, frowning.

“Everyone, this is my sister, Saavik,” Spock introduced quickly. “She merely needs a distraction. Miss Rand–"

He didn't have to finish, Rand nodded in understanding immediately.

“Saavik, she will look after you until my return,” Spock said. He didn't want to give Saavik any unnecessary exposure to the plan they were about to hatch; Saavik was overly curious and would without a doubt want to take part in it.

Saavik scowled, angrier than he expected, probably because of the pain of the severed link she still felt – the link she didn't even know existed. “But _sa-kai_ , I want to come with you – I want to help too!”

“You will,” Spock promised, “by calling Federation Security, monitoring the media, and calling me if you find anything amiss.”

“Yes, _sa-kai,_ ” she replied, defeated.

“So, Saavik,” Rand said cheerfully, leading her into the adjoining room, “what do Vulcan kids like to do for fun? Algebra? Trigonometry?”

“I like engine construction and singing…” Saavik was saying; Spock’s gaze followed them until their voices faded.

“I am not going to ask why you kept us in the dark,” Uhura said. Her narrowed eyes told Spock exactly what she thought about his behaviour.

“The less you – and the Captain – know the less danger you will be inflicting on yourself,” Spock answered with a prepared reply.

“It’s _us_ we’re talking about,” Sulu said off-handedly, but there was a slight crease between his eyebrows too. “Danger can find us even asleep under a blanket.”

“Have you contacted Jim?” Spock asked instead of furthering the topic, but no one got a chance to reply, because the facial recognition program pinged. At 23%, the program had already found the first match.

They stared at the profile from Starfleet’s database, the room silent apart from the program’s beeping, trying to attract their attention – until Saavik peeked into the room and asked curiously, “Why are looking my mother’s holograph?”

***

While Sulu – the only one of them who wasn't detained in some way – was organizing an emergency beaming for the five of them, Spock looked over his colleagues – his friends.

In theory, Spock could protest against their involvement, the main purpose of his plan with Rand was to make sure they are safe. But it was useless; Uhura would give him a tiny smug smile and say they were going no matter what, and if he tried pulling rank he must remember: they were all off duty.

Besides, even though they finally knew who the culprit was and could try being one step ahead of her, Jim's wellbeing was still on danger. Four experts’ assistance would be most useful.

“I got the coordinates for the shipyard set in. Can you determine Jim’s precise location?” Sulu asked – Spock noticed how strained his voice was – and Spock nodded, taking out a communicator-like tracker that displayed the location of all pieces of Halka mineral, including the tiny one inside Jim's pendant.

“Do you track _everyone_ you know?” McCoy sideeyed Uhura.

Spock raised an eyebrow. “You might want to check your communicator.”

McCoy swore and fumbled in his pocket, looking all over the communicator frantically.

“I did not microchip it,” Spock pointed out after a few seconds. McCo’s enraged eyes burned into him. “I simply told you to check it. It is a very old model, you should have it replaced.”

“You son of a hobgoblin,” McCoy muttered.

Scotty laughed, and Uhura smiled, her features relaxing momentarily: it was fortunate that Spock’s friends were human. All they needed was humour to dissipate the tension.

“How are we even going to get to Jim in time?” McCoy grumbled, shoving his communicator back into the pocket, just as Sulu said, “Get ready.”

And just before they were wrapped in the transporter light, Spock said, “I have a ship capable of warp eleven.”

It was time for the Jellyfish’s maiden voyage.

***

The man guarding the hangar on the shipyard frowned, seeing them, his hand jumping to the communicator.

“You can’t be here–”

Spock marched past him without sparing him a second glance; there was only one priority he was about to concentrate at: Jim’s well-being, and nothing would stop him.

“This is my ship. Move.”

The moment he said it the ship reacted; its entrance opened and the ramp slid down to the security guard’s shocked gasp, and as if mocking them, Enid Whitethorn’s mechanical voice announced, _Facial and voice recognition activated. Welcome aboard… Mr. Spock._

Without pausing for a moment Spock stepped on the still moving ramp that was slowly revealing the insides of the ship bathed in a blue light. Uhura, McCoy, Sulu, and Scotty followed, making the already small cockpit seem even smaller.

“Holy Jesus on a stick…” Scotty whistled, hungry eyes taking in every detail on the Jellyfish. His fingers slid over the smooth panel reverently. “Warp _eleven_ …”

Sulu was already at the navigation console, uploading the map of all charted space saved in the ship’s computer. The cockpit was modified, but stayed true to the original Jellyfish meant for a single pilot only. The small crew that piled up inside stayed close to their stations: there was a small communications console taken by Uhura and a maintenance station Scotty decided to reside at – mostly because it was the place where he could reach all controls and five viewscreens he turned on immediately, analyzing the ship from the inside out. There was no Sickbay on the ship, so McCoy just leaned on the wall by Sulu’s side.

Spock plugged the tracking device into the panel that showed Sulu the map with the moving target he immediately set the coordinates to. The ship rose almost soundlessly, light as a feather compared to the Constitution class ships, the semicircle section’s spinning growing in speed gradually.

Once they rose to a safe distance above the ground, Sulu said, “We are ready to launch, hold on to something. Engines to warp eleven,” and Spock had to grab the edge of the console to steady himself as the ship was propelled into the darkness of space.

Spock’s eyes were fixed on the tiny moving dot: their destination was Halka, he was sure of it. Just as he was sure all that was needed from Jim was his presence to activate the mirror’s ability to transport a consciousness alongside a universal constant’s axis. It wouldn’t be logical to harm him. And yet...

“He will be fine,” Uhura said quietly, so that no one could hear. “When is he ever not?”

Her tone was familiar; she used it on Spock during rare times he was in stress.

Spock said nothing. Logically, he understood a smart battle-savvy man like Jim was likely to survive the encounter, yet a horrible emotional part of him was screaming in panic. He still had trouble understanding the entire plan that was set in motion around them, and the lack of control was disquieting.

***

Before he opened his eyes, a familiar reassuring hum filled Jim’s ears: he was on a starship.

He blinked, vision filled with swimming blurry spots of colour that finally solidified into his surroundings: he was indeed on a starship, but he couldn’t recognize it as any of the models he knew. He squinted at the unusual glimmer that seemed to cover every inch of the ship: the walls were made from a material Jim has never seen before, like aluminium mixed with resin.

Jim tried to straighten subtly as to avoid alerting his kidnapper and looked around. Enid’s palms were placed flat on the navigation console, eyes narrowed in concentration on the viewscreen, not paying any attention to her surroundings; judging by the streaks of stars around they were going in some insane speed, about warp eleven. He narrowed his eyes, looking for a clock to tell him how much time he missed, but strangely, there wasn’t any.

Jim looked around for any suspicious objects, but there didn’t seem to be anything at all inside. In fact, the purpose of the ship wan’t at all clear: passenger shuttles would have extra seats, cargo ships would have a bay to hold the containers, a battle cruiser would’ve had some type of a console to control weaponry. If it was a shuttle for personal use – how on Earth Enid could get her hands on enough resources to get a customized vessel capable of warp _eleven_ – something few Federation ships had?

The second thing Jim noticed was that he wasn’t tied up or immobilized in any way.

The movement finally attracted Enid’s attention, and she turned to fix him with a stare, hands sliding off the panel.

Jim got up on the unsteady legs; it looked like not much time has passed if he still felt the residual paralysis of the stun. The circumstances of the stun flashed before his eyes, and he glared at Enid, a metal image of a trail of green blood standing before his eyes.

“You killed Regail,” he hissed.

Enid blinked slowly. Her eyes were no longer piercing yellow, even in the dimly lit ship it was obvious they were pure black – and the makeup she seemed no longer to be caring about was smudged on the side of her face.

Jim also realized this was the first time he could look at her freely; as if the spell has been lifted.

“I wanted to talk to you, but you would never listen otherwise,” Enid replied. “As for Regail, he should have seen it coming. You will see he was just an inevitable sacrifice.”

“I don’t think so,” Jim spat, moving closer to her – those were the two of the most hated words. She tensed. “You don’t get to decide the value of anyone’s life.”

“He should have seen it coming,” Enid repeated. “That is what he signed up for when he proposed our romantic liaison.”

“Romantic–” Jim began, but Enid wasn’t listening: a message appeared on the viewscreen: a red dot indicating an unknown target moving, and she frowned slightly, pressing her fingers to the touchpad on the navigation console and increasing the speed.

Jim saw his chance.

He leaped at her, twisting her arm; her hands slipped off the touchpad and she must’ve touched something because the ship jerked, gaining a speed boost it apparently wasn’t supposed to have.

Engines wailed in horror, and Enid basically _threw_ Jim off with inhuman strength, hissing, “Do not touch me!”, adding something in an alien but somewhat familiar language – she reached to touch the panel again, but Jim couldn’t risk her sending an alert to an ally, so he tackled her, just as the ship jerked again. Enid stumbled and hit the back of her head on the sharp edge of the console with a loud thump as she went down.

 _Power overload warning,_ the computer announced.

The lights flickered and went off.

_Systems offline. Attempt to restart._

Jim scrambled to get closer to Enid, lifting her head to check for injuries – no matter what she did, he didn’t mean to inflict any fatal damage. She winced and tried to get away, pushing him just as easily as before.

_Systems restarting._

Jim ignored her attempts to move away and got one hand into the hair that somehow turned even fluffier, and another on her shoulder, simultaneously trying to make sure she wasn’t seriously injured and immobilize her. She grabbed his wrist, squeezing to the point of unbearable pain – Jim was convinced she was trying to break the bone.

_Auxiliary power online. Systems stabilized. Engines returned to their full capacity._

Lights flickered and backup lighting system shone on them – on Enid’s hand squeezing Jim’s wrist, both covered in green blood.

As he stared at the colour in shock, Enid gave Jim a final shove, so powerful it made him slide across the cockpit and bump into the opposite wall.

She rose slowly, trying to regain some semblance of dignity, glanced at her bloodied hand with distaste, and wiped it off her dress. With a quick glance at the viewscreen she analyzed the diagnostics results, seemingly satisfied with the ship’s state.

Jim hurried to get back on his feet, raising to meet Enid’s eyes head on, just as she finished adjusting the course on the console.

“I suppose I might as well drop the pretense,” Enid said, touching the wet green spot on the back of her head, “there is no need for it anymore, and frankly, this,” she took out a tissue and started scrubbing her cheeks, “is quite irritating for my skin.”

It was like a magical transformation happening before his eyes, an entire layer of paint coming off like a mask, revealing completely different features. Now that there was no excessive glitter and inane colours thrown into his eyes he could actually see the curve of the lips, and shape of the cheekbones; finally, she hooked her fingers under the long blond bangs and tugged the wig off, freeing long black hair that cascaded down her shoulders, framing the pale face and pointed ears of Professor T’Kari.

Jim wondered if he was still confused from being stunned, if he didn’t notice hitting his head too, this must’ve been a hallucination, because there was no way he could’ve missed Enid being a completely fabricated persona to cover a face he’s seen so many times – but the evidence was right here, under all the colour palettes and lame stickers and non-existent fashion sense…

Suddenly he felt unbelievably stupid.

“How,” he began, suddenly unable to find any words at all, “how are you–”

“I did tell you,” T’Kari said, but it was _Enid’s_ voice coming out of her mouth, “makeup is the most powerful tool of disguise.”

“And the voice–”

T’Kari opened the clasp on her tacky necklace, the one Jim’s never seen her without. “This technology,” she said in her completely normal monotonous voice, “is widely used during interrogations and voice alteration for various broadcasts and recordings. I did not even have to perform any illegal actions to acquire it,” she looked at him patronizingly, as if sensing what he was thinking. “Blaming yourself for not being intelligent enough to notice this is unnecessary. Nobody did. Nobody ever _could_.”

Somehow the thoughts of knocking her out, even though they flashed through Jim’s mind reflexively, disappeared. Enid – T’Kari – was right, after all: if Jim wanted to figure out what was going on, his best chance was to listen to what she had to say.

“Have much time do you need to process this?” T’Kari asked, feeling the cut on the back of her head carefully, her voice being a controlled polite tone again, and this time Jim couldn’t understand if she was doing it out of some kind of desire to simplify communication or mock him.

He still had trouble comprehending that Enid and T’Kari – the renowned professor, Spock’s step-mother, Sarek’s wife – could be the same person.

“Why are you doing this?” Jim frowned. “Why kill _Regail –_ what did he ever do to you, what was all that about romance? If you needed me on this ship, why create Enid at all if you could’ve just made an excuse to invite me over as T’Kari?”

“I assure you, I never perform pointless or wasteful actions. I was always on the lookout for a discovery that I could use to my advantage, and from the moment I learnt about the Halka Incident every step you took was because I _made_ you take it.”

Seeing Jim’s unbelieving stare, she started talking with the same lecturing tone she would use in a class full of cadets.

“The Taahtal-os was everything I could possibly wish for – of course, I knew about its existence, but it was you who finally showed me the key I needed to activate it. And not only that, it turned out to be a key component in constructing the Tantalus Field – a pleasant bonus to the ability to traverse parallel universes as I wish. I suppose gratitude is in place,” T’Kari inclined her head slightly, “as you were the most useful in my schemes. By the time the reports of the Halka Incident were collected and the injured were treated by the crew of USS Tereshkova, I already had a foolproof plan.

“First, suggesting my candidature to Starfleet Headquarters to become the lead scientist researching the mirror, which was my specialty and was approved immediately, thus allowing me to weave myself into Starfleet’s business and influencing the aspects I needed changed, for example, creating the questions for the psychological evaluation. Where my influence as a guest scientist did not reach I had an ally, Andrew Samoilov, who was already working as a spy for me. We have formed an alliance years ago, when I have asked him to keep me informed about the latest discoveries Starfleet kept hidden, in exchange for a small favour: to help him rise to the position of a powerful Admiral – which, of course, was beneficial to me as much as to him. I warned Samoilov that one day I could come to him and ask him to do whatever I say, and on the day of the Incident I did. He agreed, of course – partly because I am very persuasive, partly because I am an accomplished melder, although there was never any need for me to fully control him. His role was simple, to act – how did you put it? – as a bad guy, pretending to be trying to steal the mirror. I think he was hoping I would allow him to keep the mirror after the success of the mission,” T’Kari said thoughtfully. “If he did, he was not as smart of a man as I considered him to be.

“I staged the entire confrontation between you and him, pulling Samoilov’s strings using the headphones he was wearing, for the sole purpose of seeing how you would react and what tactics you would use in a fight. That confrontation yielded interesting results – examples being what you fear most, what you are ready to sacrifice yourself for… Your obvious _readiness_ for a sacrifice. Based on the intel I gathered I could start planning the actual showdown which you are taking a part in right now – you taking my holograph was the first step that set it into motion – but let us talk about this later,” the corners of her lips tugged down as if she remembered something unpleasant. “You asked why I created Enid.”

Jim did a welcoming gesture. “Do elaborate.”

Maybe if he kept her talking long enough he would come up with a plan to cut off the strings she was holding in her hands. Although that seemed impossible; no matter where he looked T’Kari’s invisible presence was looming over his life...

Oh well, Jim Kirk always loved challenging the impossible.

T’Kari moved the heavy curtain of shiny hair over her shoulder as she continued talking.

“As Regail has undoubtedly dinned in your ears, mass media is an effective way to control the hive mind of the audience. I needed Enid for the same reason I needed Regail: to reach out where my professor persona would be too intimidating to be welcomed. The best journalist and the best public relations specialist, an unstoppable duet. I would have made Regail join me anyway, but fortunately he happened to have a,” her eyebrow twitched, “deep emotional attachment to me. He even tattooed my name on his finger, what a fool; I have warned him _repeatedly_ to not let any hint of our collaboration show, I told him not to count on the majority of the beings he encountered being unfamiliar with Vulcan calligraphy... Had to force him to cover it up,” for the first time her voice dropped into a tone somewhat resembling anger.

And it was the first time Jim consciously thought about hating T’Kari. Because how dared she disregard another person’s love and devotion – even if it led them to do horrible things, it was still _love_ , Jim still remembered the way Regail talked about his wife – Regail, who ended up being just another tool, now dead in their temporary office.

“You killed him for nothing,” Jim said. “He was your _husband_!”

T’Kari only moved her shoulder in a half-shrug. “No, technically he was not. We were never bonded, I merely let him call me whatever he wanted,” she huffed, traces of irritation growing sharper. “He had so many demands… Oh, _ashaya_ , please marry me, forget your research, let’s start a family… He wanted a child – fine, let us go to the genetics lab to make a child, whatever it took to shut him up and keep him by my side. I fed him a lie about us bonding after I dissolve the bond with Sarek, and he wanted to believe it so much he ignored how obvious it was. Blinded by love, as the expression goes. Ready to do everything I say for a ghost of a future together. I could make this into a lesson about the danger of emotions, but,” her eyes were hard, “your own experience is the best teacher.”

“Why didn’t you just let Regail go if you hated him so much? Wasn't finding a better substitute,” he spat the last word, “logical?”

“The most valuable resources are people who are willing to die for you,” T’Kari replied, voice condescending. “It is the most important realization I had. You look around, and all you see are figures on the board; and among them, everyone dreams about being the king. No one ever considers becoming the player.”

She gazed at the streaks of stars zooming past them as if they meant nothing, just decoration created solely for her entertainment.

All throughout her speeches there was a single thought nagging Jim’s brain: he should’ve figured it out. He had no idea how, but he must have found a way, the answer was right under his nose...

“The key was separating you from your crew,” T’Kari continued meanwhile. “Make you focus on unimportant mysteries and keep you busy with nonsensical work – that was Regail’s part of the job. Generally,” she said, flipping the switch on the professor tone again – Jim now understood how students were so enthralled with her, “distraction is the perfect technique, it always works: there is a limited amount of conscious processes a human brain can handle. I used it with Enid’s appearance, with throwing mysteries at you like the memory erasure, with ridiculous articles for the audience to hate on.”

And Jim had to admit that it worked; T’Kari has thrown a handful of glitter in his eyes, and he was fooled… But perhaps it wasn’t all.

“But you had a backup plan too, didn’t you,” Jim said slowly – the answer was finally coming to him, like a blindfold was lifted off his eyes. “It was _you_ who removed my memories on the day of the trial – you must’ve screwed with my mind to make sure I couldn’t connect you with Enid!”

“Obviously. Are you familiar with other species that can erase a living being’s memories? I assumed Spock has revealed this capability he possesses to you.”

T’Kari was focused on the star map again, her lips set in a straight line, watching Earth closely, muttering something like “They are faster than I expected,” under her breath. Jim immediately used her distraction to slide closer to the console, unnoticed.

Jim watched her closely, making sure her attention was directed at the viewscreen, and flipped the switch to open a communications channel. Then, with a painfully slow movement, he slipped a finger over the diagram showing their course, adjusting it just enough to be unnoticed…

But nothing changed. The panel simply didn’t react to his touch.

Jim tried again. Then again, with the speed regulator. Then he pushed the buttons, the switches, not caring about subtlety anymore –  but the ship was simply dead to his touch.

“It is pointless to try,” T’Kari was watching his attempts impassively. Jim’s fingers twitched: his childish reflex was to ball a fist and smash it against the panel, but what T’Kari did next simply left him speechless. She grabbed the edge of the console and _ripped_ it off, tearing the plastic in two mercilessly; the heavy block with buttons and levers smashed on the floor with a deafening crunch.

There was _nothing_ under the panel, no wires or microchips: simply smooth granite-like black surface. Before Jim’s shocked eyes, panel by panel, T’Kari disassembled the entire navigation console, revealing the black monolite the _entire ship_ was made off: just a hollow carved in a stone-and-metal composite, no dents, no cuts, nothing.

T’Kari threw the last panel into a disregarded pile along with her bloodied wig.

“I never needed those consoles,” T’Kari said, “for this exact reason: too many passengers snooping around, changing courses,” she ran a hand over the black surface. “The ship should listen to its owner only. However, credit must go where credit is due: it was not my idea, I have merely made adjustments to the technology I have found on the Jellyfish.”

She twisted her hand slightly, arranging her fingers into a position that reminded Jim of melding, and her eyelids lowered. Jim could feel the vibration of the engines growing stronger: the ship was picking up speed.

“You are controlling it with your mind,” Jim said, not believing his own words. So knocking T’Kari out and commandeering the ship was out of question.

T’Kari nodded; a wave of silky black locks fell over her shoulder with the movement. “Vulcans, proficient in melding, are capable of merging minds with machines. Did Ambassador Spock not shared the story of his encounter with Nomad with you? What about his younger self? Huh, you _do_ have communication problems,” she said without waiting for Jim’s reply.

Jim wasn’t about to fall victim to her jabs, so he feigned polite interest in the mineral pattern on the navigation console; but the name reminded him of another question he wanted answered.

“Was Spock the reason why did you have to marry Sarek?” Jim asked just to keep her talking. He couldn’t communicate with the outside world. If he managed to knock T’Kari unconscious the ship would be out of control, and he didn’t think the piece of Halka mineral he was wearing has made him telepathic enough.

It seemed that travelling to their destination was the only choice he had at the moment – and then he’d have to wing it.

“Apart from being put on trial as S’chn T’gai?” T’Kari glanced at him sideways and started counting with her fingers, “Connection to Regail covered the public part of your life, Samoilov covered your Starfleet life, all that was left was your personal life, namely, Spock. I had to get closer to him.”

“Why–”

“Because you care about him,” T’Kari replied patiently, as though Jim was a child having troubles understanding what two plus two was. “If I attempted to replace his dead mother, you would hate me on his behalf, making you blind to any suspicions you must have had about me. And that is exactly what happened, did it not? Logically, you understood the negativity you felt towards me was caused by me becoming Spock’s step-mother – automatically, _any_ negativity was swept under the same rug. Your conflicting emotions overlayed everything else, so while you were thinking whether or not you should like T’Kari, you never notices what was wrong with her. At the same time, Spock despised the emotions his father’s bonding arose in him, and he tried to distance himself from me, allowing me to act freely. Otherwise he could have been the only person, apart from Sarek, who could uncover Enid.”

Jim felt helpless. Did he had any free actions since the Halka Incident? Was there any free will left at all?

He kept trying to find a blind spot, something T’Kari would’ve missed, but it was futile. Her hands were tentacles that penetrated and dominated every aspect of his life. His will was gone the moment T’Kari set up the scene and pushed the events to barrell off the cliff of his life with a flick of an almighty finger.

“My other plan was to bond with Spock himself,” T’Kari said thoughtfully, “to elicit an emotion of jealousy in you, but matters of human romantic interactions are often nonsensical and overly complicated. Righteous anger is a much more reliable emotion,” she nodded to herself. “After all, I even made you bond with Spock.”

“We are not bonded,” Jim protested.

T’Kari glowered at him, even more condescending than before. “You _are_. There is no use lying to me, James. I told you, I used Samoilov to reveal all the secret plans you might have made, all your little code words and your ingenious scheme to protect your mind. Spock has entered your mind: your connection is too strong for any Vulcan to resist the temptation of when presented with an opportunity. Letting it go unused would be illogical.”

That’s what made Jim’s head snap up.

Maybe it was true, but – with every word hope blossomed brighter, because there it was, finally, _finally_ , something Jim could hook on – in her perfect thought-out plan _T’Kari has made a mistake_. Because Spock was a stubborn illogical idiot who didn’t want to talk about the bond, not to mention solidifying it in secret.

Nodding along to whatever T’Kari was saying, Jim relaxed into the seat, directing the focus inside himself and hoping T’Kari would interpret his glassy eyes as a simple lack of interest in her cunning plots. Ambassador Spock has told him in his usual vague words that there was an occasion when his James Kirk was separated from the Ambassador by aeons (the circumstances of the separation were even vaguer than all the stories put together), and when an emergency occured Kirk had to contact him by telepathy he didn’t possess, just by _thinking_ about needing him...

“And what was your goal in all of this again?” Jim asked to trigger another monologue, and tuned T’Kari out, instead recollecting the techniques Spock taught him. He had no idea what the bond felt like or where to look for it, but he had a feeling he would know it if he saw it. Jim imagined his body as a flow of mental energy, directing it into where he imagined his soul to be.

‘Come on, Spock, hear me…’

He went deep inside himself, focused on the all-encompassing feelings he had for Spock: thick syrup-like lust, scorching hot burning love, warm tender bloom of affection, glossy breathtaking awe, rightful sense of belonging, unwavering armor of protectiveness, firm foundation of trust, and darker layer of emotions – pinpricks of irritation and frustration, suffocating possessiveness, heavy weight of envy, all covered in thin web of sadness.

“–are you even listening to what I say, James?” T’Kari let out a sound resembling a sigh, crossing her arms. Reflexively, Jim straightened, expecting a remark about not paying attention in class.

“Sure, sure,” Jim muttered and flicked a hand, hoping he was about to make a correct assumption. “You want to destroy the world because you hate it.”

The sigh was palpable now.

“I do not _hate it,_ and of course I do not want to destroy it. This world is in chaos – and how can it not be, when the natural state of the world is entropy. I cannot stand seeing it wriggle helpless like a fish out of water. I want to world to finally see its erroneous ways and realize: either you are perfect or you are nothing,” she said.

Jim has heard variations of these words so often he just couldn’t leave them without a comment.

“Everyone makes mistakes. It is only–”

T’Kari turned sharply, her eyes flaring. “Human? Were you going to say human? Oh, but of course, thank you for the highest praise of your species!” Her fingers convulsed spontaneously. “I have had enough of humanity being held like a standard, a pinnacle of achievement every other species should strive to reach. You make a mistake – but it is fine, it is _human_ to do that, so you are instantly forgiven. No matter what terrible consequences your mistake has brought, it is only _human_ to be morally ambiguous, right? The Federation ships? Equipped to carry humans, down to the temperature. The language everyone must learn? Standard, evolved from Terran languages. You have fought so much to achieve equality between different groups within your species, yet you hold humanity as a default species in the universe, the standard that must apply to Vulcans, Klingons, Tellarites, Cardassians… Even if it is biologically impossible,” she inhaled slowly, brows drawn low. “You took over our universe – I am merely taking it back,” T’Kari fished out a band and finally arranged her hair into something resembling a strict Vulcan hairstyle.

At least now Jim was starting to understand the source of her anger, and he thought he had a chance to reason with her, after all. Especially after choosing more non-human officers for his crew, Jim has always advocated for the change in the standard equipment of a starship and tried to make sure every member of the crew was equally comfortable as much as he could.

“I don’t deny some ignorant people might believe that. But they are few, and I am certainly not one of them.”

“Are you sure?” T’Kari stepped towards his, voice slicing the space between them like a dagger. “Did you not accept Regail easier after he told you he was from Earth? Did you not enjoy my company more because I allowed a certain amount of emotion show? And how many times have you praised Spock for acting human while ignoring his other achievements? How many times has he slipped in times of stress and you focused on him losing control of his human characteristics, commenting on them for everyone to see?”

“That was just teasing,” Jim began and shook his head – why the hell was he explaining himself to T’Kari anyway? And how did she manage to learn so much about Spock?... “I simply wanted to help Spock embrace an important part of him.”

“Of course. And it is important to you because you want to shape him into something he is _not_ , because the only way you can possibly love him is if he gives up his upbringing.”

Jim clenched his fists, anger boiling his blood. “Oh, don’t you dare speak of _my_ love. I just want Spock to be happy.”

“He was born with a war inside of him. You want him happy? It would be possible if Sarek never met Amanda Grayson. If Vulcans never mingled with the likes of _you_ ,” she exhaled slowly. “I have always searched for a way to return the status quo and give Vulcan its rightful place back – and how I have it.”

“How can you be a separatist,” Jim asked, “didn't you get a commendation for defeating the Ri’a’gra?”

T’Kari’s shoulders turning into a tense line.

“Ri’a’gra… Yes, I defeated them. But before that, I used to be one of them. We used to be united by a common goal, driven by a single purpose, no obstacles strong enough to overcome us… But then our home perished along with nearly all of my companions. The few who survived have gotten, as they said, a different set of priorities,” T’Kari’s lips twisted imperceptibly in disgust. “I was the only one who wanted to continue fighting for the cause we sworn to make our lifeblood, the only one who was truly dedicated, as it turned out. So I lied. I had to fixate my place within the righteous community, and my ticket into fame was pretending to defeat them – taking even one of the survivors’ lives to seem legit, no matter how much I was against spilling precious Vulcan blood. But at that moment what I wanted was for the world to have a strong hand to direct it towards the right path, and nothing could have stopped me.”

“So much for being a pacifist,” Jim frowned.

T’Kari levelled him with a look. “I do not believe in pacifism as a concept. There is no pacifism, there are simply people not pushed hard enough.”

“So, you decided to take over – or, sorry, _direct_ the world,” Jim said, hoping to buy enough time for Spock and the others to discover he’s missing. Maybe he was imagining things, but the wispy thread he has found within his soul seemed to be picked up on the other end. “What’s next?”

T’Kari probably understood what he wanted, and yet she didn’t seem bothered, instead continuing her story, surprisingly open in answering all of his questions.

“Keep in mind that the Narada incident was not the first encounter this universe had with alternate realities. However, this time I had an actual witness: Ambassador Spock's arrival was unprecedented. Suddenly my eyes were opened and I realized just how much untapped potential was kept away from me; it gave me opportunity to study the development of the events in two universes. I asked him about everything; he was a hundred and twenty-five years old, while I was fifty-six at the time; for him, I was a young and ambitious scientist – the type he has always enjoyed.”

“And the first question you asked him was who did you become.”

“It is only logical to question your own fate in a different timeline,” T’Kari used an infuriatingly friendly tone, the same he used to enjoy about her so much.

But if Jim knew the Ambassador, he–

“He didn't tell you though.”

T’Kari nodded again, unperturbed.

“For someone with my qualifications it was easy to find a reason for us to meld and download the information without him noticing. We worked together on many projects; you see, in his timeline I was his senior colleague, and now that I was younger and,” her lips tensed imperceptibly, “less competent, our relationship was influenced by nostalgia on his part.”

“So who did you become, in his timeline?”

“I am always first and foremost a scientist. An underground separatist – something I have indeed pictured myself doing when I was younger,” her gaze hardened. “But not now. Not when there's nothing to lead Vulcan out of chaos anymore. After I've seen it I knew this was not the future I wanted for myself. I already know of the unsustainable Empire ruled by humans,” she nodded at Jim. “And I have already seen the chaotic future of the Federation where so-called equality dominates. This only proves that my calculations are correct: the course I outlined is the only successful future,” she finally took both hands off the smooth surface of the console – Jim felt the ship going out of warp – and took out a padd, typing something.

Jim tried to figure out where they were, but the star map was no longer displayed, and the viewscreen was tinted black with a protective cover; so he craned his neck to the point of pain, trying to read the text.

“Just sending The Intergalactic one final article,” T’Kari explained, gaze not leaving the screen. “You would not expect Enid Whitethorn to ignore the incompetence Starfleet has displayed handling these past thirty-eight days, particularly guarding Halka… All done,” she tapped the padd – and mirrored the motion in the exact same light, throw-away manner, by tapping the solid black console. The seemingly insignificant movement resounded through the ship; the unmistakable vibration of firearms going off gripped Jim’s insides.

With another graceful motion T’Kari moved the protective shield from the viewscreen; a strobe of the brightest green light flooded the bridge, and Jim’s eyes watered as he adjusted to the brightness. It took him a few seconds to finally understand what he was seeing.

Jim rose from his seat, horror tightening like a rope around his throat.

The sight of the giant mirror taking up the entire viewscreen was hauntingly beautiful.

Chunks of Halka were floating in space, the gravity already gathering them together to form a halo around an enormous circle of burning green mineral, the thin iridescent film of energy in the middle was as everchanging as the last time Jim saw it.

“What did you do to Starfleet ships?!” Jim growled. He longed for affirmation that at least someone got out alive...

His life was a circle and everything just kept repeating. He couldn’t stop the attack once again. The thousands of Halkans who hoped for Federation to protect them – who hoped _Jim_ would protect them…

T’Kari didn’t answer right away, she was too busy pulling up her own blueprints on the viewscreen and comparing them to the readings she got off the newly creating mirror.

“Do not worry, their crews are alive. I am not a killer–”

“Tell it to Regail, or Samoilov, or the Halkans, or your teammates from Ri’a’gra…”

“–all it took is a single agent inside each of them with right convictions placed into their minds and some Majorian Deathgrip – thank you for the tip, by the way,” she nodded slightly, “to force them to seek a substitute crew for a certain period of time,” T’Kari watched Jim, head tilted. “With all the questions – that I am pleased to answer, of course – I admit I am surprised you did not ask why I took you along for the ride.”

“You need my presence to enable travelling into a parallel dimension,” Jim said, inspected a particularly deep crease on the console, “it’s obvious.”

“Not quite,” T’Kari replied. “I had a reason for spending so much time disclosing my every step. Allow me to explain what is happening right now…”

“Oh boy,” Jim muttered, reclining on the seat, half expecting charts to pop up on viewscreens.

“It is _very important_ ,” T’Kari levelled him with a stern look instructors usually reserved for naughty cadets. “You have to listen to me and you have to _understand_ . As you already know, the bond that exists between you and Spock is a universal constant _both of you_ contain. There is a reason I chose _you_ : you are human. The fact that the bond exists in you is an anomaly of its own, and that is what makes it stronger than any Vulcan could ever have,” the word _unfortunately_ hang in the air palpably. “Moreover, you do not possess telepathy and the connection to your soul, thus any operations with it will be painless to you. Your presence would be enough for an individual transference of a consciousness to a random alternate reality. In order to make a permanent portal and manipulate it without limitations I am going to need your soul to fuel it, and I will need to extract it. There is only one drawback: understandably, separating a soul from a living being is unnatural, and the procedure requires your fully conscious _consent_. You must understand the circumstances and agree to the consequences of your decision.”

“My willingness to give my soul to help you kill loads of innocent people. Yeaaah,” Jim drawled, “sure. Already running, balls to the wall.”

In a flash, before Jim’s slow human reflexes could even react, his bones creaked as T’Kari grabbed his wrists and pushed them into the seat’s arms that reacted as if being an extension of her body, wrapping around Jim’s wrists and arms tightly, preventing him from moving an inch.

“Mind is a tricky thing,” T’Kari’s voice stayed bland as if she wasn’t hovering over him, and Jim could swear there were traces of Enid’s yellow x-rays in her eyes, “not even all Vulcans can master the intricate art of controlling it. But I did – you might have noticed the ease with which I erased the memories of those who were in my way. However, I am not here to brag about my abilities,” Jim couldn’t help but snort nervously at this admission, all while fruitlessly trying to break the metal holding him down, “although they _are_ impressive. My point is: mind is a lot harder to control than you think. Your mouth may refuse me – but the moment your mind even considers agreeing, it will be count as consent.”

“You do realize that by telling me all this you are actually lowering the likelihood of tricking me?”

Maybe if he could just reach out to the navigation console and kick it hard enough the inner mechanisms of the ship would go awry?... He tried to scooch down, but another tendril from the ship came out to weave around his forehead, holding him down, wrapping so tight he could imagine hearing his skull crack.

“I told you,” T’Kari replied patiently, “tricking you would not work. Simple truth will be enough. The evaluator asked if you wanted to die, James. Do you?”

Jim rolled his eyes – a picture of indifference, even though his stomach clenched at the realization that all his fatalistic thoughts were caused by a simple question planted by T’Kari.

“That again?”

“You had plenty of time – thirty-eight point two days, to be exact – to come to terms with its inevitability. And you already know the answer: of course you do. If your death saves _him_.”

A wave of terror washed over Jim like a bucket of iced water. There was only one _him_ T’Kari could possibly mean, and this was the first time he was close to panicking.

Jim has always told himself that if he ever had a choice between Spock and the Enterprise he wouldn’t be able to choose; but it was a lie. And T’Kari knew it. She knew all she had to do was say a name and Jim would do anything within his power to keep Spock safe…

But not at such a price.

Right?

...What was the cost of Spock’s life again?

No. Jim conjured the image of Spock looking at him in utter disgust for even considering giving T’Kari the key to the mirror. He kept it in his mind’s eye as he looked back at T’Kari who met his gaze with unwavering confidence. T’Kari has already made one mistake, she might as well make another: she will not make Jim do this.

“As I said,” she continued matter-of-factly, “ _both_ you and Spock have the connection I need to activate the portal. And if I don't get you – I will get him. And unlike you,” her eyes hardened as she leaned forward, her fingers digging into Jim’s temples to tip his head up, “his connection to his soul is very strong, so I will have to _rip_ it out of him piece by piece, and if you think he has suffered after the death of my planet, it was merely a fraction of pain he would feel when he dies a slow torturous death as I maim his mind to the point where there is nothing but desire for the bliss of oblivion. _This_ is your choice, James,” she whispered, and Spock’s image dissolved, leaving only T’Kari’s black eyes burning with the reflexions of the remains of Halka.

And there it was, a smidgen of hesitation.

And it was enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "Sa-kai" means "brother" in Vulcan.  
> Finally we are seeing what this story really is about: the power of makeup.  
> Couple of notes:  
> Remember how I said this fic was written to be reread? That's what I meant, now that you know (almost) everything T'Kari did - like wearing the techology mentioned in chapter 1, talking about chess metaphors, etc., etc. I think reading the previous chapters will be more enjoyable.  
> Regail didn't lie when he said he thought Jim is a good man. He really wished they could be friends and regretted his death - but he loved T'Kari more and would never oppose his plan. Although she still ended up making sure he doesn't oppose.  
> One of the reasons T'Kari dislikes Regail is because he's _assimilated._  
>  For me, T'Kari is the perfect villain. She is smart, she values patience and can wait 30+ years to achieve her goal, she always has a plan and can create a new one with minimum information in a very small amount of time.  
> A trope I've always wanted to writing is a person having a secret identity, when the reader sees both people but doesn't know they are one.  
> I've tried avoiding overly explaining stuff in this fic, because I didn't want it too seem boring; the only exception being T'Kari's plan. I couldn't resist; I love a smart antagonist and her plan was so multi-layered I didn't even mention all the things she prepared - but I think you can figure them out on your own, especially after chapter 8.  
> I adore antagonists who weave a WEB, who make sure they have connections to every single aspect of their target's life... Those are the most dangerous and almost impossible to beat.
> 
> Anyway, this fic had quite a few twists - you've probably guessed some of them and that's great! But no matter which one you guessed, I hope there was a point in this fic where you said "I didn't see that coming." That's why there are so many little twists: I wanted everyone to have a moment where they would be surprised. Let me know if you had any theories that turned out to be correct! Or maybe theories that ended up being wrong? I'd love to hear every single one! C:
> 
> And finally, if you are worried, may I direct you attention to the tag "Angst with a happy ending"?...


	8. The Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Jim once said that he hated Halka; Spock understood his meaning now. But if the planet was guilty of anything, if has already paid an enormously grander price by being bathed in blood of its inhabitants, whose only crime was standing in the way of a woman greedy for knowledge._
> 
> _“Jim would not want us to give up,” Spock levelled McCoy with a hard stare and was met with a mirrored expression._   
>  _“Jim would not want us to suffer on his behalf.”_

If you’re not the absolute best in a skill then what is the point of acquiring it? Anyone settling for less then one hundred percent was obviously too weak to push themselves and therefore deserved no respect.

Respect has always followed T’Kari, both among her peers and among the brightest people of the galaxy, ever since she was twenty-one and discovered zhisium in the soil of Ragna IV.

If she decided to study a skill or a branch of science she inevitably succeeded: this was the only outcome she allowed, and there wasn’t a record of a single failure in her life. After receiving all the available knowledge on a subject, she simply moved on to the next one.

The very first subject T’Kari has chosen to study deeply was healing. She was eleven, and the mysterious art of minds intrigued her; four years later she became the most accomplished melder of her age, surpassing and immediately growing bored of her classmates. Of course, the Vulcan Science Academy followed, and while she was constantly perfecting the melding technique and discovering routes no one dared to explore, she also understood where future lied: in the technology. So she focused on and exceeded in Engineering, from the basic construction of a communicator to the most complex inventions that weren’t even entirely explored by their creators. It has taken much longer, but T’Kari considered it a worthy investment of her time.

Of course, there also were chemistry and physics, linguistics and other cultures, particularly human, then galaxy-wide marketing strategies, then writing – writing for a  _ particular  _ magazine, writing that the audience would blindly follow… And all throughout her life, no matter what invention or theories she introduced, T’Kari was never wrong. It was a solid fact. Some called her psychic, but there was nothing supernatural involved: she was simply intelligent.

She moved forward, never once looking back. Space was never the  _ final  _ frontier for her. And she knew that eventually she would find an opportunity to move further than anyone.

The multitude of explorers travelling the ever expanding galaxy made a dozen discoveries a day; T’Kari merely had to study all of them to find a perfect combination of circumstances to achieve her goals. Patience was one of her defining characteristics.

And after thirty-eight years of waiting she found four elements: the Taahtal-os mirror, Regail, Sarek, and the bond between James Kirk and Spock.

T’Kari’s own hands reconstructed the Jellyfish and built the ship with artificial intelligence she could connect with, along with all the necessary equipment she needed to recreate the phenomenon of the Taahtal-os mirror. A mysterious machine that occasionally worked in completely coincidental circumstances? No, she would not settle for something as measly. The Tantalus Field would become her dutiful servant that would lay the dimensions in front of her like an open book with an infinite amount of pages.

Finally, the walls between the worlds were becoming ephemeral.

James Kirk could accuse her of all seven deadly sins all he wanted. Nothing mattered in comparison to the ability to disassemble the intricate mechanism of existence.

T’Kari activated the same holding mechanism she used on James to secure herself in the seat – she couldn’t trust her counterpart not to be unstable – and after making sure the video message would be played automatically the moment the transporter exchange would be complete, with a simple thought she directed the ship towards the mirror.

If her calculations were correct – and they always were – with the configuration she gave the Jellyfish it wouldn’t arrive for another seventy-five minutes. So far, everything was following the plan down to a T.

The accomplishment was solely hers, and yet she couldn’t resist throwing a glance at her key element.

“Thank you, James,” T’Kari said quietly and then almost rolled her eyes at herself. It seemed she spent too much time undercover mingling with humans and started assimilating their illogical speech patterns.

She was grateful James Kirk was too dead to hear her.

With this final thought, she activated the transporter.

***

At first, when Spock felt the poking in his mind – the lightest touch he dismissed at first – he thought he was mistaken due to high stress: surely it was impossible for Jim to reach out to him, wasn't it? He was a human who supposedly wished to ignore the unsettling development the link was; how could he not only sense it but address it as well, something only bonded couples and close family members were supposed to do?

But Jim was always exceptional, and somehow he did it – at least for a few seconds. But even that was enough for Spock to mentally catch the end of the imaginary ribbon he let do of, keeping the awareness of the connection in the forefront of his mind. If the bond was complete, he would’ve had access to Jim’s thoughts and mood, but all he could do now was sense Jim’s faint presence somewhere light years away.

Spock kept the connection active on his side; Jim certainly had a reason to contact him like that, and Spock awaited a development, perhaps a message Jim would send.

Partly, he listened to the conversation on the bridge and kept an eye on the star chart, but most of his mind was focused on the faint trace of the link reaching out into the deepest space, until––

A guillotine came down,  _ maiming  _ the link, cutting it off without a trace, ripping off a veil revealing the void on the other side Spock has never knew existed.

That must be what being struck with a lirpa felt like, the white hot blade twisting into his temple, turning his vision black.

When Spock resurfaced in the real  _ so so empty _ world, he sensed Uhura’s hands on his shoulders, supporting his weight. Was he really about to  _ there’s nothing left to stand for _ fall down?

“Are you okay?” Uhura’s concerned voice sounded next to his ear.

Spock groaned against his will and shook his head. The last time he was so physically sick was after getting a stomach wound on Altamid – but it was unremarkable compared to what he felt now.

“The link,” Spock finally managed to reply. “Severed.”  _ Admit it, you coward. _

He heard Sulu ask Scotty quietly, “What link?” in the background.

A tricorder beeped into his ear, and McCoy mumbled, “A spike in brain activity…”

Uhura knew the basis about Vulcan bonds, so she just urged Spock to stand upright.

“You mean Jim did it?” She asked, gentle but firm.

“No,” Spock took a deep breath; his ability to process thoughts was returning. McCoy’s tricorder beeped quieter now. “T’Kari. She is highly proficient in melding and mind manipulation, I assume she is capable of severing it,” Spock said. It  _ felt _ like it was cut off manually – but Spock realized he was just trying to convince himself. He didn’t have much experience with bonds anyway.

“But Jim’s alright, yeah?” McCoy frowned. Even though he didn't entirely understand what's going on, his concern was apparent.

“I do not know.”

_ Liar. _

T’Kari must have messed with Jim’s mind, that is all. That is all.  _ You coward, an embarrassment to your culture. _

“Mr. Spock,” Sulu’s voice interrupted his destructive thoughts, “I am detecting a surge of energy in the area of the coordinates we are arriving at.”

Uhura’s hands gave Spock’s shoulder a final squeeze as he took a deliberate step towards the console.

“Take us out of warp, Mr. Sulu.”

The ship slowed down smoothly – and the moment the streaks of light around them turned back into the gems of stars, the Jellyfish was pierced by the chilling low hum that echoed down in Spock’s bones, awakening a deep existential horror that called to the fight or flight response in all living beings.

Uhura shivered, fighting a reflexive impulse to cover her ears, and started once her eyes found the viewscreen that revealed the most hauntingly breathtaking sight: a gigantic circle of green fire shimmering in space surrounded by a halo of broken pieces that used to be a planet.

“Holy shit,” Sulu whispered; the green light he and the console were bathed in washed out all original colours.

And then, in the midst of fiery blaze and pearly translucence they saw a single tiny ship against the backdrop of green.

The circle of fire had almost the same hypnotizing qualities Enid once had; it was terrifying on some kind of a primal level, and yet they could barely stop looking at it in paralyzing awe – until Sulu shook himself out of the reverie and said, “Someone has to operate the transporter.”

There was a moment of uncomfortable silence where everyone was looking at each other. Of course, none of them came all this way to stand on the sidelines.

Usually Spock would be offering to take a load off someone’s shoulders and do the most tedious work himself, but leaving Jim was out of question.

Judging by McCoy’s determined frown and the way he was looking at the other four, he was thinking the same.

“I will stay,” Scotty said finally. “I'll need to try contacting the ship that used to guard the planet and oversee your activity anyway.”

Uhura laid a hand between his shoulder blades in wordless gratitude, while Scotty was already fixing up a set of coordinates that would take them directly to T’Kari’s ship and wasted no time activating the transporter beam.

The brightest green light melded all shapes together, making the bridge seem like a single smooth surface. At first T’Kari’s silhouette, clad in black, was the only figure somewhat standing out, and only because she moved: her hand stilled over the fasten she’s just snapped off her wrist. Her attentive gaze flew over the four newcomers and flickered to the side, as if calculating something – and Spock followed her line of sight to see the second silhouette, unnoticeable at first, merged in a single shape with the chair by the light, with fastens holding it in place–

And suddenly Spock forgot what he was about to say to the woman who betrayed his father – all the planning, all the weapons, all the words were concealed by the white noise of his mind.

Jim’s head was hung, limbs motionless, and Spock’s head was swimming with echoing pain. The light was burrowing inside his mind in a pounding migraine.

Spock couldn’t protect him in the end, failing as a friend and as an officer.

Spock’s clever plans, his conviction in the ability to eventually one up T’Kari suddenly revealed themselves as a meaningless waste of time. He managed to get tricked by her, roped into a game of minds he was meant to lose. And all for what? For a senseless gamble.

Next to him Uhura gasped, and Sulu stepped forward desperately – and that’s how he realized a mere second has passed. He forced his vision to become clearer, the fog of surroundings condensing into something other the body of his friend.

McCoy’s hand found the spot on Jim’s neck where pulse would be, pressing frantically despite the frozen features telling the truth.

The history repeated itself and in theory they should’ve been prepared – but not this soon.

Spock finally looked into T’Kari’s eyes.

Logically, Spock knew T’Kari was who they were going to see, so it wasn’t a low blow –  _ for all their knowing they still were too late  _ – but seeing his father’s bondmate in front of the burning planet still wasn’t easy. And even though she was outnumbered, she stood calm and confident.

His internal clock told only six seconds have passed – no, this couldn’t be right. Didn’t time realize it was being split in two?

“You are under arrest,” Spock said, hearing his own voice from behind an impenetrable steel wall. The protocol required him to state the charges and rights, but why would that matter now?

T’Kari raised an eyebrow, a small smirk tugging a corner of her lips.

“What for? I did not do  _ anything _ .”

McCoy growled in a way that wasn’t even human and ripped the phaser off Spock’s belt.

The first shot from a shaking hand landed on the navigation console, the second followed a moment later, barely missing T’Kari’s head and leaving a scourging mark on the viewscreen; she ducked again – and that’s when Spock finally forced himself to move.

He grabbed the phaser in McCoy’s hand, directing it away from T’Kari.

“I will fucking kill her–” McCoy was saying, and the words resonated with Spock – however, however…

McCoy tried to shove Spock away, fruitlessly pulling the phaser back up at T’Kari’s passive face.

“Doctor, stop!–”

“Out of my way, Spock–”

Spock dislodged the phaser firmer. “Leonard, please!” He pressed. “She has bonds with her  _ daughter  _ and  _ husband _ , neither my father nor my sister will be able to handle another broken link!”

McCoy’s tense muscles trembled under Spock’s grip for a few seconds longer, and finally he spat, and the phaser tumbled down on the floor.

Sulu caught McCoy’s arm immediately, just as he stumbled, his gaze burning a hole in T’Kari.

“You are under arrest and you will follow me to be persecuted according to the law of the United Federation of Planets,” Spock said, knowing full well how lifeless his voice was.

T’Kati straightened, brushing imaginary dust off her ridiculous dress.

“As you wish,” she said, raising her loose hands to the shoulder level. “If that will make you feel any better.”

He could undergo kolinahr. This has always been a gift presented by his upbringing.

***

***

The next day the sunlight hit Spock’s windows at the same spot as it always did on November the 23rd.

Everything was meaningless movement now. The grace Spock was occasionally complimented on – by Jim, of course, who else, who else – now turned into forceful series of convictions. Get up. Perform hygiene tasks. Consume the amount of calories necessary for the day. Because he had to.

It was all his fault.

He was too self-assured, he danced right to T’Kari’s tune – and even though he suspected her, Spock believed he would be able to outplay her.

He distanced himself from Jim, thinking it would keep him safe.

The replicated oatmeal scraped like sand against his tongue. He wanted to spit it out and wash his mouth clean, but it would be illogical and wasteful. So he swallowed, the queasiness overcoming every bit of him.

The jumble of thoughts was scattered in all directions, aiming at everything and nothing.

T’Kari has been put under arrest and after completing the necessary legal procedures was awaiting the injection with truth serum; the twenty-four hours couldn’t pass slower, even though Spock didn’t know what he was expecting. T’Kari was guilty, everyone knew that; would he feel better after her confession? Would he have righteous anger and desire to avenge by his side?...

Spock and McCoy convinced Starfleet to put Jim’s body in cryo once again, in hopes of finding a miracle to revive him: Starfleet has obviously looked at them as if they were insane, but reluctantly agreed. What helped them stall was the unusual method of death: with his soul taken, McCoy and Chapel managed to pull the wool over Starfleet’s eyes for a while about whether to truly consider him dead. At least bureaucracy was on their side.

He was never so thankful to not being alone. Every obstacle Starfleet or Federation security presented had a qualified person taking care of it, leaving Spock to wallow freely.

"But... everything will be fine, right?" Scotty asked, still trying to be hopeful, once they were transported back onto the Jellyfish, with the heaviest of loads in their hands. "We've got medicine, we've got Leonard... they'll work something out. That's how it always ends.”

But that was just a trick, Spock thought. The incident with Khan has tricked them into believing in impossible. But sometimes there was no magic wand to make everything better with no consequences.

Humans enjoyed saying that having a love that resulted in a tragedy was better than to never love at all. Pity those who lived without love. But it was clear now: he would rather get rid of all emotions than to know what true emptiness meant.

***

The alloted twenty-four hours have just passed. T’Kari was telling everyone she was innocent and no one believed her; Spock didn’t know why she was lying if the serum would reveal the truth, and frankly, he didn’t care.

Instead of going to her trial, however, Spock, along with McCoy, was present before the committee in Starfleet HQ whose goal was to gain their input on what must be done with newly transformed Halka. The creation of a planet-sized mirror wasn’t easily concealed, and the public was outraged after hearing about the destruction of Halka; _ all those resources poured in its protection _ , they said, _ undone by a single person: what if Earth will be the next target of another crazy maniac? _

People’s fear was understandable – but Starfleet’s defiance when it came to Halka was decidedly not.

“What are we even talking about?!”

The members of the committee winced at McCoy’s near shout in response to hearing that Starfleet absolutely  _ couldn’t  _ allow the destruction of such a unique scientific discovery. All they wanted from Spock and McCoy was to provide intel about its use.

“You didn't destroy the Field the first time, and look what it resulted in!” McCoy waved his hands wildly, but was met with flat looks.

“But imagine the potential–”

McCoy’s fists clenched as he took a step forward. “Fuck potential!! Is it worth lives of innocent people,  _ good people? _ ”

“Dr. McCoy, you are clearly overreacting. Mr. Spock,” the chairman turned to Spock, clearly expecting him to rein McCoy in, “would agree with me, this is the logical way. We can spend a lifetime uncovering mysteries of Halka; we cannot allow it to go to waste.”

Spock watched the man passively; his eyes were wide with wonder. He was driven by the single-minded desire for knowledge, something Spock used to relate to. Something T’Kari also related to.

But Spock stood with McCoy, a quiet wall of support hovering in the background.

“...I agree with Dr. McCoy on all accounts,” he replied. “The planet must be destroyed immediately.”

A wave of shocked and disappointed whispers flew over the committee.

“You are a scientist!” The chairman exclaimed, standing up. “Think about how many opportunities to discover the unknown will be destroyed!”

Spock looked at him, detached. A strong sensation of having his mind elsewhere persevered.

“I find that I do not care.”

The man let out a disappointed huff and sat back down.

“You words are clearly influenced by emotionalism following your Captain’s death. We thought better of you both.”

This was the first time they have heard Jim being addressed as  _ dead _ , Spock realized. So the official decision has already been made.

McCoy looked at them with eyes full of disgust. “If protecting the lives of the innocent is what makes you think we are lesser people – then by all means, think whatever the fuck you want. Come on, Spock.”

“In my personal opinion, your attitude is not deserving the rank you have. It would be wise for you not to rely on our alliance in the future,” Spock noted calmly as he and McCoy exited the room of stunned scientists who never knew what loss was.

“Damn right,” McCoy grumbled under his breath – the net of camaraderie connecting them was turned steel by grief.

Spock never expected himself to want someone’s company, but surprisingly, McCoy’s presence was comforting in some ways. He didn’t pity him, didn’t talk about regrets.

They didn’t exchange many words after leaving the HQ; McCoy only beckoned him, saying, “I have something that might interest you,” and the next thing Spock knew he was in McCoy’s quarters, a bottle of dark chocolate liqueur in front of him, showing McCoy knew a lot more about Vulcan biology than he let on.

“Found it in my locker collecting dust,” McCoy shrugged, pouring bourbon for himself. “No idea how it got there.”

Spock chose to ignore the crumpled receipt from a liquor store with today’s date he noticed in the bin.

Somehow Spock and McCoy ended up being together most of the time. Initially, Spock thought that was because McCoy was about to blame him, but then he realized they drifted together on automate, perhaps because without Jim they were truly lost – Scotty and Uhura had each other to comfort, and Sulu had Ben and Demora... After all, they had much more in common than they realized. Their love for Jim, for example.

But what use love was?

So many people loved him.

So many people weren’t there to help.

The liqueur was thick and terribly sweet, binding his throat – just what he needed.

McCoy slammed his empty glass on the table. “Isn't there  _ anything  _ you can do?” He blurted out. “Some voodoo, some secret ritual you didn’t think was worth mentioning before?”

“No,” Spock closed his eyes, pain unbearable. Well, eventually he would have to confess. “We were t’hy’la. We had a type of bond that transpired even death.”

“So?”

“It was not complete,” Spock said. “If we were bonded his katra would have stayed connected to mine, but we did not. I refused because I thought it would benefit both of us.”

McCoy didn’t accuse him, even though he had the right to do so.

He only muttered, “I see the appeal of being a Vulcan now. I wish I could feel nothing.”

Spock knew what McCoy felt. Accept it and move on, the praised Vulcan mentality said – and yet Spock couldn’t follow two simply directions.

It was sad that he understood too much about himself and his emotions only once their source was lost to him. Ironic, humans would say.

McCoy rubbed his face with an incoherent mumble and stilled for a few seconds. A moment later Spock noticed him shaking soundlessly, until his head tipped backwards and he laughed – short, jagged sounds. Tears glistened on his eyelashes, and yet his eyes didn’t close, even as the laugh turned into hiccups.

Spock rose, wondering if he should get help.

“Jim was obsessed with you, you bastard,” McCoy spat with an edge of utter misery. “He fucking  _ adored  _ you. And you never even noticed. God. What a  _ fucking _ waste.”

There was nothing Spock could respond with. Grief has obviously caused McCoy to exaggerate the friendship Jim felt for him. And even if he was correct (he couldn’t be, there was no way a brilliant man like Jim would ever have anything more than platonic feelings towards a screw-up that can’t protect his Captain) – it didn’t matter now in too quiet days.

The first thing Spock asked McCoy was whether they could revive Jim with superhuman blood again. “That was a one-time feat,” McCoy replied. “His veins are full of that blood, it won't make a difference.”

That revival five years ago was just a trick that brought not only Jim’s life back to him but also a conviction that death was but a fleeting inconvenience, solved by a simple coincidence and bearing no effect. Some laughed, some cried, but everyone moved on, as if nothing happened. And somewhere deep inside they just assumed – even though eugenic experiments were forbidden – they have made a step towards discovering a key to immortality.

Hope was indeed the most dangerous of emotions.

Spock glanced at the watch and rose.

“I must go.”

“You can stay, I have a couch,” McCoy shrugged. “Not a good idea to wander the streets now.”

“I have a visitor about to meet me.”

“Take this then,” McCoy handed him the remains of the chocolate liqueur. “It’s too sweet for my tastes anyway.”

And that’s how Spock arrived to his quarters. His father was already at the door; not a second late, ever so punctual. He eyed the bottle under Spock’s arm but didn’t comment. Since he was the prime witness in the case of genocide committed by S’chn T’gai T’Kari, Sarek stayed on Earth; but still, Spock never expected him to initiate the meeting.

“Spock.”

“Father.”

Spock keyed in the code to open his door. Sarek stood in the doorway with hands behind his back, and for the first time through the haze of grief over Jim Spock wondered what he felt –  _ thought  _ – about the matter. T’Kari was his bondmate, after all.

“Spock,” Sarek began, uncharacteristically pausing. “I grieve with thee.”

Trying not to show his surprise, Spock nodded. Somewhere between the dinner they had with Jim and Winona – which illogically seemed decades ago, they were so happy, so  _ smart  _ about their little trick – Sarek realized and accepted exactly how much Jim meant to Spock.

“What was the result of the trial?” Spock asked.

“She took the serum; she is truly innocent. T’Kari used the energy field to transfer her consciousness into an alternate universe; the consciousness currently present in her body did not in fact commit any of the crimes T’Kari is accused of. She has made her case; she cannot be judged for the crimes of her counterpart. Legally, she is to be set free.”

Spock’s knuckles wrapped around the bottle went white, and he forced his hand to relax.

“I cannot let this happen.”

He wanted someone to constantly look after T’Kari. It would be illogical and unethical; but it would be right. He didn’t trust her. No versions of her.

“I have made sure she will not be truly free. She will be collected by the crime prevention unit on our planet. They usually take care of problematic children with potential of becoming criminals, but I have convinced them to make an exception.”

“I see. You have my gratitude.”

“Now is the time for acceptance,” Sarek said.

There it was, Vulcan mentality in its prime.

“Do not tell me it is going to be better soon.”

That’s what everyone said: just wait, eventually you’ll forget. Maybe he didn’t want to forget, maybe he  _ needed  _ this pain as a constant reminder of his failure to keep the most beautiful thing that’s ever happened to him.

“It will never be better,” Sarek said, eyes flicking down. “But with time, it will get easier.”

It seemed impossible.

“How  _ much  _ time?” Spock asked quietly, not expecting an answer. Sarek seemed to understand him; this seemed to be the first time they really connected after Amanda’s death. Perhaps all it took was Spock experiencing the same loss as his father did.

“Return to Vulcan, my son,” Sarek said instead. “You will find peace there.”

Spock shook his head slowly – going back to Vulcan to have a spouse forced upon him, force that unsuspecting person to spend a life alongside a living embodiment of chaos? He would rather stay on the Enterprise until his pon farr comes and welcome death he deserved.

“I have a duty to this crew. I cannot leave them.”

In a time of need, the crew needed a strong figure to lead them; just a step forward, that much would still be enough.

In other circumstances, he would probably think twice about the father he would be leaving – alone once again, even though he would not confess to being affected by it – but Sarek had a daughter now. There was truly nothing left to hold Spock back.

Sarek probably understood, because all he said was, “The S’chn T’gai household is your home too. It will always be open for you.”

Mere days ago it would’ve been everything Spock wanted to hear. Now he couldn’t stand the thought of returning.

Sarek raised his hand in a ta’al, about to head out.

“Father,” Spock called after him. “I… grieve with thee.”

Sarek’s expression didn’t change, but he nodded shortly.

“Your condolences are appreciated.”

***

No matter what was happening in a tiny blip of space on Earth’s surface, the galaxies were still spinning, and the stars still pulled planets towards them, and time still passed.

This marked the fifth day since Jim’s body was put on ice: McCoy convinced the hospital to give them time, citing his previous experiences with extraordinary medical circumstances. They needed to appoint responsibility for the decision, so now the documents were signed by McCoy’s and Spock’s fingerprints, the second-in-command and the CMO; and that’s why it was no surprise that Winona seeked them out.

Turns out, she never left Earth.

Precipitation formed a thin layer around her warm hand laid against the glass of the cryo; Jim’s severe face was clouded by cool light underneath. She blinked slowly at him; her hand slid off, leaving trails in the moisture, and she faced Spock and McCoy. With shadows under her blank eyes and gray undertones in her skin, Winona looked like a ghost.

The woman Spock met thirty days ago was gone.

Who knows how many time she has already been here, touching the glass in the exact same way.

“ I never hoped Jim would forgive me,” Winona said, looking into nothingness, “he would, of course, his heart is kind – but all I hoped for was turning over a new leaf. It was my fault so much distance was between us. I lost so much,” her fingers twitched, “but I never fought to get it back. Until one day I looked at myself and…” She raised her head and blinked, as if surprised to see Spock and McCoy next to her. “I just wanted to reconnect with my family. I wanted my sons to call me when something is wrong, complain about life troubles, and boast about accomplishments, however small they are. I wanted to start anew,” Winona touched her short hair;  her voice cracked like fragile glass. . “But... this keeps happening to my boys.”

Her face scrunched as if she wanted to cry, but her eyes stayed dry.

“This just keeps.  _ Happening _ .”

Something in the way she said it made Spock realize Winona’s grief was even worse then he initially assumed.

“Mrs. Kirk,” he started slowly, “did you talk to Jim after the dinner?”

Winona’s unfocused gaze met his. “No, not really. He just said our argument was for some kind of a scheme he was pulling, and he was planning to explain it, but he kept being busy with that PR work... We never got around to exchanging something other than a few messages.”

She seemed to curl into herself even more, stilling completely and inevitably; the fierce way McCoy was looking at Jim and her spoke of wanting to tear the entire world down.

McCoy touched Winona’s unresponsive shoulder, “We’ll find a solution, Winona, I promise! The best minds are working on it–”

“I know, but – I’m tired,” she glanced at Jim once more and drew in a shaky breath, eyes shut, “I just – I can’t hope anymore. I know you do everything within your power, but… I can’t take it anymore. I just  _ can’t _ ,” her eyes opened. “I’ll start arranging the funeral tomorrow.”

She stood up without acknowledging – or probably feeling – McCoy’s hand.

McCoy looked after her retreating form, hand outstretched – and then it fell down, and when his eyes found Jim's face again there was something Winona-like in the lines around them.

Spock turned to McCoy with renewed vigor. “Leonard, we must work new theories. What about Ragna IV, the local inhabitants have recently developed a–”

“We both know nothing can cure death, Spock. Maybe… it’s time we let go too.”

“Jim would not want us to give up,” Spock levelled McCoy with a hard stare and was met with a mirrored expression.

“Jim would not want us to suffer on his behalf.”

***

Spock met Vice Admiral Sato’s holographic eyes.

“Mr. Spock,” she was saying, “the regulations state we are to move you higher in ranks. However, taking in mind your special position, I would like to hear your opinion first. You will not be able to continue being a Chief Science Officer once promoted to Captain, and we are offering you another option: we can find another Captain, with all your crewmembers keeping their current positions.”

That was a tempting offer, but Spock had to think of his crew. They would not welcome a newcomer in these circumstances.

“I accept the promotion, Madam.”

The hologram nodded. “The necessary forms were sent to your address.”

Sato didn’t congratulate him on acquiring new rank, which he was grateful for.

“I would like to suggest Lieutenant Moreau,” Spock continued, “to be promoted to Lieutenant Commander and offered a position of Chief Science Officer.”

He was fond of her, Jim said. Used to say.

“Lieutenant Sulu,” Spock continued, “is to be promoted as well and given the position of First Officer.”

Sato nodded again.

“We will follow your recommendations… Captain.”

Spock’s grip left a dent in the desk’s surface.

Sato’s eyes flicked down at a padd. “There is also the matter of Dr. McCoy’s retirement he asked for...”

That was a surprising development: Spock hasn’t expected this move from McCoy. Nevertheless, he collected himself quickly.

“Dr. Chapel will become the CMO.”

Spock went to Jim’s quarters after that, the code Jim gave him years ago surprisingly still valid. The belongings were left untouched, of course; after Starfleet would comb through them in search for sensitive information they couldn’t allow to fall into a common person’s hands, they were to be inherited by the next of kin, Winona, who probably considered this to be the final act of acceptance of her son’s death, and therefore had no desire to go through with it.

Standing in the centre of Jim’s quarters, looking at the things left in their state of disarray as if their owner has just gone out for coffee for a minute, Spock didn’t know what he was trying to accomplish by coming here alone. That was a theme for the past few days: not knowing.

They have been through this, five years ago, but that day came and went, leaving nothing but Jim’s jokes and the hollowness following them; Dr. McCoy has performed his miracle, and the life went on.

It did nothing to prepare them for grief.

Nothing could.

Jim once said that he hated Halka; Spock understood his meaning now. But if the planet was guilty of anything, if has already paid an enormously grander price by being bathed in blood of its inhabitants, whose only crime was standing in the way of a woman greedy for knowledge.

He still waited for a miracle. Maybe McCoy or M’Benga or Chapel would suddenly come up with a cure?

But time passed, and eventually, there was nothing left but a chime of a padd informing him about Winona Kirk’s arrangement for the burial.

***

Spock’s hand hovered over the padd with a filled form; all he had to do was put his signature in the final graph to make his promotion official. Illogical – Jim would not become more alive the longer he waited – and yet, he couldn’t bring himself to take this final step.

The communicator chirped, and Spock allowed the stylus to fall from his fingers, welcoming the distraction.

“Good evening, Mr. Spock,” Rand’s shaky voice greeted, and she inhaled deeply, about to set into another one of her tirades. Usually Spock would cut her off and ask her to stick to the point, but this time he wanted her to talk as much as she could. “I’m calling in the light of recent, uh, decisions – that is, you know that Starfleet is about to announce Captain Kirk officially…” She halted. “Yeah. And as his yeoman I will be in charge of sorting out his belongings, you know the procedure. But I went to his apartment today, you know, to make sure when the security and other yeomen come they won’t find anything incriminating or personal, like things Captain wouldn’t want anyone to touch… And, well, I found something you might wanna see.  _ Have  _ to see.”

Pained yet intrigued, Spock gave her the coordinates of his apartment, and a moment later a transporter beam materialized a tiny holoemmiter, not unlike the one Spock used to wear as a pendant. One look at the title – and Spock was dialing a frequency on his communicator.

“Leonard.”

“I ain’t gonna change my mind,” McCoy grumbled, “if that’s what you’re after. Although the picture of you pleading would be entertaining, so go ahead.”

He tried so hard to restore some sense of normalcy, like their bickering – but it wasn’t sincere.

“The decision is solely yours,” Spock said, “the reason for this call is different. I have received Jim’s post-mortem note dedicated to both me and you.”

“Be right there,” McCoy said immediately and the screen went black.

Within minutes, Spock and McCoy were sitting side by side in front of a holoemitter reading  _ “For the eyes of Dr. Leonard McCoy and Commander Spock only.” _

Jim’s face formed from particles of holographic projection. He stared at them, a little off; judging by the wrinkled t-shirt and unkempt hair he’s just been pulled out of bed. The bits of background visible showed his dark apartment, the only source of light being a lamp and flashes of passing cars.

“Hi, Spock, Bones,” his smile was forced. It was obvious he recorded this being very tired. “If you listen to this message this means I am dead,” he rubbed a hand through his hair, messing it up even more, smile disappearing. “I don’t even know why I’m doing this, to be honest. It’s just that – I’ve been thinking about… what’s gonna happen once I’m gone. Even more than usual, and that says something. The regular stuff, you know, what I leave behind –  _ who  _ I leave behind. And I think it’s pretty obvious that you are the two most important people to me. So I wanted you to have… something,” Jim sighed. “The last words you hear are supposed to be meaningful, but I can’t figure out what to say. Bones, honestly, I just wanted to say thank you, for everything, for putting up with me. I don’t say it enough, and sometimes I think our teasing goes too far, and I can’t even remember the last time I let you know how much I treasure our friendship. You’d say it’s obvious without words, of course, but sometimes we just take things for granted too much. And Spock, you are… You…” He shook his head and muttered, “God, what am I doing? This was a stupid idea,” his hand reached towards the camera and turned it off – but the next moment the video renewed. “Sorry, ignore the last part. If I die, there are things you should know, both of you. First of all, don’t fight,” he smiled again. “I hope I died in an epic way, saving the crew. If I died saving one of you –  _ please _ , for the love of god, don’t blame yourself. Knowing you are alive and well is worth everything. Spock… there are things I wanted you to know, but… I think you already know them, don’t you. With your telepathy and all,” he shrugged, a little helpless, as if regretting not possessing any telepathy himself. “You probably tried to spare me by avoiding talking about it. I just thought – oh, I don't even know what I was hoping for. Okay, it's my dying message, it shouldn't be so glum. I guess I'm making this video because – well, to be honest, I'm making it because Ambassador Spock told me about the time his Jim Kirk made a video like this... ” He smiled lightly. “I know, Ambassador sharing stories about the future? I was surprised too! I thought the Khan adventure was the only thing he would talk about, since we’ve already had it – well, I wouldn’t call it an adventure, with Ambassador dying and all… Oh, I realize you probably don’t know it, with you, Spock, being so strict about not knowing your destiny. Sorry for the spoilers. But when they had the warp core misalignment, Ambassador was the one to fix it. I mean, why do you think I went in your stand the moment I heard about the warp core,” he waved his hands wildly, “I just couldn’t handle you dying in the radiation chamber when I could prevent it. And, uh, it turned out pretty well in any case, right? They managed to handle the revival part too – well, that’s the part where I don’t really understand what happened? Something involving Bones carrying Spock’s soul around – damn, I wish I could see your faces right now!” He laughed and then grew serious. “Listen – trust me, I know how you feel right now. Losing either of you is an unbearable thought,” he ran a hand through his hair and laughed humourlessly. “I would never want to be in your place. God, I don’t know what else to say… I feel like my final words to you should be something profound, but all I can think of is… Be happy. Command the Enterprise and go on saving lives and helping people – that’s what you’re best at. And thank you, for everything.”

The hologram dissolved.

If McCoy said something, Spock couldn’t hear him – he wouldn’t be able to hear even an explosion tearing their building down. He sat ramrod-straight, his mind rushing, gears were turning; Jim’s dying words were like a breath of fresh air, because finally Spock found something he’s overlooked.

If T’Kari has truly planned  _ everything _ – she could have plotted this part too, factor in every possible outcome.

He stood up, interrupting McCoy mid-word.

“We have to see T’Kari.”

McCoy frowned at him. “Why?... You’re not thinking about killing her, are you?”

“No. I think she can have a way to save Jim.”

This was the most vague statement, but hope flared in McCoy’s eyes anyway.

“The procedure Jim talked about was katra transference,” Spock was saying while his fingers were already flying over the communicator, typing a message for Sarek. “When a Vulcan dies, they can transfer their katra – the soul – into the nearest living creature for safekeeping. It was done as a tradition, but could also be used as means of resurrection, if the body is kept in a pristine condition.”

“But Jim isn’t Vulcan,” McCoy noted, even though obviously he was very keen on the idea.

“A part of his soul is  _ very  _ Vulcan, and there is no evidence against the mechanism of transference working in reverse,” Spock tapped his fingers against the communicator, his mind racing. “T’Kari is the most skilled melder of our generation; she extracted Jim’s soul to use it for the mirror, however, it is entirely possible it is still kept inside her mind. We have to talk to her now,” he stood up, showing McCoy the communicator with the confirmation his father sent. McCoy was already on his feet, determination hardening his features.

“Let’s go.”

***

Awaiting the transition into the Crime Prevention Unit, Sarek has given T’Kari temporary quarters on his ship currently stationed on the edge of San Francisco: Spock assumed he didn’t leave Earth in hopes Spock would change his mind about coming along. Sarek greeted them, and they spotted Saavik’s curls peeking from around the corner where she tried to eavesdrop.

Without asking for details or reasons Sarek showed them to them destination, and shut the door, leaving Spock and McCoy alone with the technically innocent prisoner.

Although it was hard to call the room a prison: yes, there was a glass barrier dividing the visitors and T’Kari, but the room was spacious, equipped with everything she needed, even a fruit plate. All surfaces were painted a muted terracotta, the most calming colour to the Vulcan eye. Even the padd and the simple cotton robe T’Kari was wearing were in the same inoffensive pastel tones.

The moment T’Kari saw them entering her cell, she turned the padd off carefully and gave them her full attention. Her left arm was limp – a residual effect of the serum. She was fortunate; some people came out bodily paralyzed after being exposed to it.

“Greetings. What is it that you want?” She asked, voice polite – overdone just enough to show her real attitude.

Spock paid her mocking no attention.

“When you took Jim’s katra, did you store it?”

A corner of T’Kari’s mouth tremored.

“I was beginning to think I would have to ask Sarek to pass you a note with a more obvious hint. How long did it take anyway? A week?”

“So you do have it,” McCoy cut her off.

“Of course I do. I did not just jump into this ordeal head-first; I have accounted for every single outcome,” she looked from McCoy to Spock. “You  _ are  _ welcome, although you do not look particularly grateful. Oh well, maybe you will be more appreciative later. After all, James’s death was never my intention.”

McCoy snorted. “Yeah, right. So believable.”

T’Kari raised her eyebrows.

“Why do you think you are standing before me if not for me creating an absolute scheme? James Kirk was not the only person I studied thoroughly,” her eyes bore into Spock. “I knew Spock would save my life because I have a child – the only reason I had her, really – and because I am bonded to his father. I knew the Federation would declare me innocent and I would never see prison – and I knew Sarek would put himself in charge of keeping me locked up, enabling us to have this private conversation. And, in the end, you would do anything to revive James – including giving me what I want.”

“You keep saying  _ I _ ,” McCoy frowned.

“I have the right to do so,” T’Kari inclined her head. “It is a curious debate, actually, on which I have quite a controversial opinion. Personally, I consider all versions of the same person merely pieces of a puzzle making up an  _ ultimate self _ . Think of it as a giant simulation that puts you through different scenarios. I understand why it is an unpopular opinion: people do not enjoy admitting responsibility for the actions that were not their own, and lucky for me, the Federation is among them. Of course, there will be instances where your other selves would perform undesirable actions. But I think that by accepting those versions as a part of who you are helps you develop an understanding of your entire potential as an individual. Because once you understand that there are infinite versions of yourself, then  _ you _ , as a person, become  _ infinite _ ,” she spread her hands elegantly, “And when you lock one version of me in a prison cell, the infinity of me will still be free... But I digress. You wanted to bring James back to life, did you not?”

Spock nodded, and McCoy stepped forward urgently.

“I will need his body to transfer his katra in,” T’Kari said, all business. “Stealing it would be difficult, a much easier solution would be for me to arrive at the hospital,” she raised a hand, halting their reactions. “Of course, Sarek would agree to let me go. After all, he  _ does _ owe James his life. And you can take as many weapons with you as you like,” she raised an eyebrow, “but I assure you, I do not plan on escaping this, ah, lovely place. And I do want to get rid of that katra, it is getting crowded in there,” she pointed at her forehead.

“Why should we trust your sudden generosity?” McCoy frowned.

“What I get out of this deal will surpass whatever losses I take,” T’Kari replied casually.

Spock wasn’t about to showcase some pointless bravado; he knew when to accept that he was utterly and thoroughly defeated.

“Name a price,” he said.

Clothes rustled in the silence. Feet padded soundlessly as T’Kari approached the barrier and leaned so close the tip of her nose touched the glass. Her black eyes shone against the faded colours.

“Your eternal gratitude. Knowledge that I saved the katra of your t’hy’la and that you  _ owe _ me now. I want your mind to bear my mark of ownership.”

“Yes,” Spock said, not wasting time of thinking it over. “I agree with your conditions.”

There was no other way he could possibly reply.

“Then let’s go!” McCoy was already heading for the door; offhandedly, Spock realized he half expected McCoy to protest, but of course he didn’t: McCoy knew there wasn’t a price big enough to pay for Jim’s wellbeing. And besides, Spock doubted he truly understood all the ramifications.

T’Kari smiled.

“No. That’s not how the deal works. Only upfront payment,” she rubbed her fingers in a universal money-asking gesture.

“Very well,” Spock said and paged Sarek to open the cell. He felt McCoy’s eyes following him, but McCoy didn’t protest.

Spock wasn’t afraid. Nothing that would happen could be worse than it already was.

For the first time, his mind was clear with confidence.

“Leonard, it would be best if you gave Spock and I privacy for five point seven minutes. As a doctor, I doubt you would enjoy listening to the sounds of pain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Also known as the chapter where Spock sells his soul to the devil.  
> You might be wondering why I spent an entire chapter on grief when I'm about to undo it? Well, that's because I think showing grief and **consequences** of **death** is very important and that's what STID (and many movies, honestly) missed. See this bit: _"That revival five years ago was just a trick that brought [...] a conviction that death was but a fleeting inconvenience"_
> 
> I wanted to explain the scene with Jim's post-mortem note. First of all, this is the continuation of the moment we saw in chapter 6, you know the one: _"He flipped the communicator open and close several times until finally making a decision and opening a recording app. He took a deep breath and began: “Hi, Spock, Bones…” "_  
>  Second of all, this is a reference to a TOS episode The Tholian Web. Remember the line from chapter 2, Ambassador told Jim _"how they rescued USS Defiant (because a topic of Spock’s and McCoy’s relationship came up)."_ This was meant to show that Ambassador Spock revealed the events of that episode, including Jim "dying" and leaving a note. That's how this Jim got the idea to record a message for Spock and Bones too. (And I was afraid referencing USS Defiant would be too obvious and you'll figure out the twist in the end...)  
>  Sorry to waste your time with explaining this little bit, I just love when details of a story come together like this.  
> Also, _"Hope was indeed the most dangerous of emotions"_ line is a reference to this line in ST:M: _"MIRROR SPOCK (pause): ...Hope. An emotion more dangerous than others"_ , hope you got that too!  
> I won't list all the other references, but please let me know if you find them!
> 
> As for T'Kari, I enjoyed writing her "ultimate self" monologue SO much. She's the smartest character I've ever written for, I loved it.  
> And I've always wanted to write a story where the antagonist wins 100%.


	9. The Lifetime (of regret)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It would be better by far to die in his arms than to linger  
> In a lifetime of regret.  
> (c) A Part Of Me Died

Sarek drove them to the hospital; Spock and McCoy were staying in the back seat with T’Kari like makeshift security – involving anybody else would be risky. Sarek was put in charge of distracting the staff; it was highly unusual for him to follow Spock’s instructions, and Spock wondered whether it was another part of T’Kari’s delicately weaved plan he simply didn’t realize yet.

McCoy kept glancing at Spock on their way to the hospital to gauge his reaction – of course, the doors weren’t soundproof, he must’ve heard everything – but Spock didn’t let any discomfort show. After the initial splitting pain passed his mind went numb, and the feeling has not yet returned fully, presenting itself as an echo of the knife that used to pierce his consciousness. Spock assumed once the mental anesthesia T’Kari provided went away completely he would need several days of deep meditation to restore his mind after the intrusion, but he could simply ignore the uneasiness for the time being.

T’Kari looked at him victoriously after the meld; she knew he would agree to anything to get the miracle he was promised. In a way, it was still unbelievable they managed to get another chance. Logically, Spock understood this must’ve been their last one; the universe must run out of miracle stamps eventually.

Jim’s cryo chamber, turned off for the procedure, opened to let out a puff of fog; and among frozen glass and metal laid their friend, skin blueish and frost on his eyelashes.

Spock and McCoy stepped to the side to make way for T’Kari, who glid towards Jim with the usual unwavering noble stride. T’Kari exhaled deeply – a breathing technique Spock knew preceded a deep meld – and slotted the fingers of her good hand to Jim’s meld points.

She stilled as a statue, and so did Spock in anticipation. McCoy looked between all three of them, twisting his fingers nervously. They couldn’t see Sarek, who was standing guard outside the door, but Spock assumed he awaited the results with a suppressed apprehensiveness he’d never show – otherwise he wouldn’t have agreed to assist them.

“Is she doing it?” McCoy asked, peering over T’Kari’s shoulder. “How do we know what’s going on?”

T’Kari cracked one eye open, glancing at McCoy from under the lowered eyebrow.

“ _ She _ will be  _ doing it  _ if you stop interrupting. If his katra is not fully transferred it will be your fault only, Doctor, so shut it.”

McCoy bit the reply that was on the tip of his tongue: Jim was way more important than any kind of a snappy remark.

They stood like this for what felt like hours – a moment frozen in space-time continuum, a moment where doubts crawled into their thoughts, that T’Kari could’ve lied to them  _ again _ – and then the monitors began slowly picking up the vitals, the pulse rising, the brain activity firing away, though slowed, and Spock closed his eyes in relief, hearing McCoy’s shaky exhale to his left.

The time restored its run, and after eleven more minutes, T’Kari leaned away from Jim’s chamber with a slump in her shoulders, straightening in her proper stance a moment later. Her eyes opened slowly, blinking several times to focus on the surroundings.

All the monitors were blinking softly, showing the vitals of a healthy, albeit weakened and unconscious, human being.

“That should do it,” T’Kari said, rolling her shoulders as though physically exhausted. “I am a genius in this universe. Almost as much as in mine.”

McCoy double-checked all the parameters, glancing at T’Kari with eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“What if he comes out of this fucked up?”

“Vulcans cannot lie,” T’Kari replied, “not when it comes to melding. You sensed my true intentions, did you not, Spock?”

“Yes,” Spock nodded, “and I believe you.”

McCoy pursed his lips, clearly unconvinced.

“Anyway,” T’Kari shrugged – her arm jerked awkwardly as it still couldn’t move, “untrusting humans know where I reside. I am not planning on leaving my husband’s side at the moment. Well, back to being a prisoner for the crime I did not commit – me, a completely innocent person, adored by the public, tortured,” she wobbled her paralyzed arm, “and put in prison like some sort of a martyr,” if she wasn’t Vulcan, Spock was sure a tear would roll down her cheek. This was the first time he had a smidgen of hesitation about whether they really made the right choice by agreeing to T’Kari’s terms.

“Just one final piece of advice,” T’Kari continued, “from someone who played the part of your mother for a short while, Spock: you must pay more attention to studies of technological melding, you have much potential,” she nodded at McCoy, striding past them, sporting the thin cotton robe like a royal dress, and took a place next to Sarek, as if expecting him to take her arm and escort her to a ball.

Sarek looked at Spock, and he expected accusation and was prepared to say that Jim was worth any sacrifices, but Sarek probably saw it in his eyes. Maybe he remembered Amanda.

The door closed after them, and Spock’s gaze fell onto Jim immediately, still contemplating the sheer  _ luck _ of their situation. Perhaps he should be thanking T’Kari for giving him this gift – and perhaps that was exactly what T’Kari wanted.

“How long until he is awake?” Spock asked.

“Right now it's comparable to coming out of a coma,” McCoy didn’t look up from Jim, wonder shining in his eyes. “I give him about eight hours.” He sat down and pointed at the replicator. “Want a drink?”

“Perhaps later,” Spock barely looked at McCoy, illogically afraid the mirage of Jim’s chest rising and falling would disappear if he looked away. “Eight hours would be enough for me to settle some arrangements. I assume you no longer wish to resign?”

“Of course not,” McCoy stated it as the most obvious thing in the world.

Spock inclined his head, “I did not have an opportunity to sign your request. What I need to do now is erase all traces of its existence in the first place.”

McCoy hummed in agreement. “Jim will have enough shit on his plate to deal with, T’Kari and Halka, and no doubt blaming himself to falling for her schemes and letting her go… Yeah, it’s best to leave him in the dark for now.”

Spock’s hand hovered within an inch of Jim’s cheek, fear of what he would find there halting him.

His fingertips pressed against warm skin.

And there was nothing.

Nothing at all.

A vast pit opened in Spock’s stomach and tugged him into the icy despair, because of course T’Kari would take something most dear to him, because instead of feeling a steady pulse of their unfulfilled connection he often sensed whenever he came in close proximity with his friend, there was simply skin, no mind calling at his own, no beauty of the rare bond.

His hand trembled, and he touched, and touched, hoping to feel a tiniest spark.

McCoy was watching him, concern palpable in his features.

“What did she do to you?” His voice was low.

Spock shook his head, not trusting himself to speak, and finally moved the hand away.

It was over.

He didn’t deserve it anyway.

Spock looked at Jim’s form against the cool blue colours, nodding a goodbye at McCoy.

“I will leave him in your capable hands, Doctor,” he said, ready to walk out of the room. He had much work to do.

“He would want you to be here when he wakes up,” McCoy called after him, eyes trained on the hand Spock hid by wrapping it in another. “No matter what.”

Spock inhaled deeply, stilling the anguish brewing inside. This was a small price to pay for Jim’s life.

“I have to oversee the erasure of the past week with no complications,” he said. McCoy couldn’t argue with that.

Spock has already seen Jim wake up from the dead once; to force him endure Spock’s face being the first thing he sees in the new life once again was disrespectful.

He did just one more thing before leaving: helped McCoy transfer Jim from the cryo case into the regular hospital bed, wishing to get rid of any indication of his recent death as soon as possible.

Together, McCoy and Spock managed to concoct both a believable and confusing combination of science and vague hints about Vulcan telepathy for the hospital workers to call off the death certificate they were about to issue.

Their friends were already informed about what transpired with T’Kari, the other crewmembers should have received Spock’s newsletter debunking any rumours and assuring the Enterprise would return on its mission with no changes in the bridge crew; soon the news would reach Starfleet – and as for Winona, Spock assumed it would be better for Jim to tell her himself. A sort of an icebreaker, to borrow the human term. “Hello, mother, I did not die, it was merely a coma.” Spock trusted Winona not to dampen Jim’s spirits by telling him about the upcoming funeral. Of course, they won’t be able to keep the truth away from Jim forever, but the least they could do was make sure his awakening wasn’t as stressful as it could be.

The most important job was saved for Sulu, Rand, Uhura and Scotty – the only remaining people who knew the whole truth.

“Nyota, Mr. Sulu,” Spock began the conference call, “I am going to ask you and Mr. Scott to perform a miracle.”

He was absolutely certain he would hear Scotty’s voice next to Uhura, and he wasn’t mistaken.

“That’s basically the first line in our resumes,” Scotty’s voice was cheerful now that the main reason for their stress was gone. “Montgomery Scott, the miracle worker. Just tell us what to do, Mr. Spock.”

“Erase the past week. Call off the documents, hack into the databases, do whatever you want – just cover up the events of the past week to prevent the Captain from uncovering them for as long as possible.”

There was silence – Scotty and Uhura probably exchanged wordless communication – and thankfully didn’t ask for Spock’s motivation.

“Consider it done,” Uhura said, tone warm. “Good luck, Spock.”

He decided against asking what the well wishes were for.

They were a perfect crew, Spock realized. He has never actually acknowledged it aloud, assuming they were intelligent enough to understand how competent they were, but as the latest events proved, some things just needed to be said while one still had time, even if that was illogical. Spock made a mental note to thank them later.

***

Seven hours later, he met McCoy in the hospital once again. No matter how much Spock wanted to avoid the confrontation, no matter what he said aloud, he just couldn’t stay away from Jim too long, and neither could McCoy.

The moment McCoy saw him he replicated a glass of thick chocolate liqueur to go along with his amber beverage.

“Are you going to tell me what T’Kari did to you?” He asked, voice purposefully distant, as if he didn’t really care about the answer.

Spock watched the dark brown liquid, thinking he really had no reason not to tell McCoy. He trusted him to keep a secret.

“She has cut me off Jim completely.”

McCoy frowned, concerned, but not quite understanding the ramifications.

“I’m sure something can be done,” he said; Spock appreciated him reigning in his usual biting comments.

“No, Leonard. T’Kari is a surgeon, a master. It is irreversible.”

In some ways, he could probably even admire the immense talent she possessed.

“Why do you think she did it?” McCoy asked, running a finger over the rim of the glass. “T’Kari.”

Spock looked away; he couldn’t admit the real reason aloud.

So all he said was, “Because she had the capability,” and he didn’t know if McCoy believed him.

“You must tell him,” McCoy said.

Spock’s control nearly slipped to form a sigh. “Leonard, please – you have said, and I quote,  _ it would be best to keep Jim in the dark _ .”

“Yeah, about the dying part – not about this, not about  _ you _ ! You owe it to Jim!” McCoy pressed with utmost authority.

“I cannot,” Spock said blandly. “What would be the logic of upsetting him further by informing him that T’Kari managed to acquire what she desired? It cannot be changed.”

McCoy looked at him, face scrunched in compassion.

“You do realize you will have to tell Jim eventually? It’s like pulling out a–”

“Tell me what?”

McCoy jumped in his seat; if Spock was human he would probably fall off his chair.

“ _ Jim! _ ” Was out of his mouth before he could stop it. Jim smiled at him brightly, and that smile seemed to disintegrate even the bags under his eyes. And even an explosion in the next room wouldn’t force Spock to look away. He wanted to touch Jim, to hold him close – to get tangible proof that he was real, alive, breathing.

McCoy made an aborted motion as if to hug him – in the end he probably decided in wouldn't fit the legend they were creating.

Of course Spock couldn’t sense Jim approaching anymore; and too agitated, he didn’t even  _ hear  _ him, most unusual and slightly disturbing; judged by his expression, slightly tired, perplexed, but most of all bright, he didn’t hear anything.

McCoy glared at Spock, but said, “Nothing of substance. Discussing some personal stuff, Jimbo, so quit eavesdropping!”

With a spark of gratitude Spock realized McCoy was lying in his stead. Even if it wasn’t for Vulcans’ tradition to never tell lies he wouldn’t be able to tell Jim anything but truth.

“You should be in bed anyway!” McCoy fussed. “How do you feel? What do you remember?”

Jim’s forehead scrunched in concentration; the memories seemed to return slowly. “T’Kari… She had a mind-controlled ship, then turned Halka into the mirror, and she wanted to…” Suddenly he frowned. “Wait. Was I dead?”

McCoy and Spock exchanged brief glances – they have already agreed on the lie consisting of half-truths and omissions.

“Nah,” McCoy flicked a hand, “that’d be redundant. All you had done was get your soul-thing-whatever extracted, which wasn’t a big deal and was pretty easy to sort out if you knew what to do, and Vulcans did. Namely Spock and Sarek.”

Jim’s expression twisted into something deeply affectionate.

“So you saved my life once again. How many more times will you do it till you get tired?”

This was phrased as a joke, but Spock answered seriously. “As many as needed.”

“Well, I’ll leave you two to it,” McCoy muttered, getting up and looking at Spock pointedly. “I’ll go find the other doctors to tell them you’re just dandy.”

Jim barely acknowledged him.

“How are you, Spock?” He asked, falling into the seat McCoy vacated. “You barely said a thing.”

“I am well, obviously. I was not the one T’Kari held hostage.”

Jim frowned at the mention of T’Kari’s name.

“How did Saavik take it?” Jim asked. “And Sarek?”

“They are Vulcans,” Spock said. He has perfected the art of voiding his voice of emotions. “They do not let events they cannot control affect them negatively.”

“Accept it and move on,” Jim muttered. “Well, in any case, Saavik has you now. You’ll help her handle this – and, uh, if she ever needs someone else to talk to, I am always available. Told ya, I’d love to meet her,” he smiled again, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time.

Spock didn’t give Saavik’s fate much though yet; right now she was staying with Sarek, but he was always too busy with Ambassadorial duties, and Spock expected to get a call soon asking to take care of Saavik while he was away.

In truth, he was wary of the prospect of raising a child. There was nothing he could give her – especially now, when she was asking herself existential questions after learning the reason for her birth.

“Well,” Jim sighed, “at least this entire mess has taught me a lesson. Never walk around without a gun taped to your back.”

That’s what they wanted him to think, Spock realized. They wanted to spoil Jim and make him stop seeing good in other people.

Thus, another step in T’Kari’s plan was revealed.

How many more would they see?

***

Jim got discharged from the hospital within two days: he was at peak health, T’Kari’s manipulation was done perfectly and didn’t have any adverse effects.

“I gotta go,” Jim told Spock, rolling his eyes in exaggerated fashion. “Mom doesn’t let me out her sight.”

“A quite understandable reaction.”

Jim smiled at him warmly, in a way that used to ignite desire; that was when there was still hope, however feeble.

He bounced on his toes slightly, lips parting as if to say something – but he seemed to decide against it and instead suggested, “Spock, how about dinner? A real one. Now that we’ve found a real culprit – at least I  _ hope  _ we did,” he snorted humourlessly.

The words Spock uttered were simple, and yet it felt like a goodbye.

“I... Apologize, Captain. I must decline.”

Jim deflated visibly.

“Oh. A prior engagement?”

“Indeed. I am accompanying my father to interrogate T’Kari; we assume we will be able to gather more intel from her.”

Like McCoy, Jim couldn’t protest this reasoning.

“Perhaps your suggestion could be implemented later?”

Jim looked aside, swallowing.

“Yeah.”

The voice of a man who expected this 'later' to never come.

Spock rose a ta’al in a customary gesture.

“Live long and prosper, Captain. We shall see each other soon, once the mission is resumed. Please give my well-wishes to your mother.”

“I will,” Jim replied with the mirrored gesture. Spock avoided looking at the tremor in his parting fingers. “Live long and prosper, Mr. Spock.”

***

Sometimes Jim had an urge to fill his apartment with sounds: TV, music, other people’s voices – it didn’t matter. His apartment was always silent when he came in, but for some reason, today the silence was simply unbearable. So Jim grabbed the first thing he laid his eyes on: Regail’s music player. The continuation of the song he never finished listening to started playing, like a ghostly whisper of its dead owner.

He should give it to Saavik, Jim thought while sorting out his possessions, deciding on which ones to take back to the Enterprise; he really had no use for a player.

He went to clear the clutter on his desk and his gaze fell onto the holo Regail has given him ages ago.

“What would Regail do?” Jim recited the words he was told once.

Fall in love with a Vulcan and die for them. Yeah, sounds about right.

The song ended, and with a smooth transition a new one began.

_ “All alone, or in two's, _

_ The ones who really love you.” _

Sulu was probably with Ben and Demora in their shop, making final preparations to hand the business over back to Sulu’s mother – or maybe not. Now that the Enterprise had cemented a date when the mission would resume and Sulu knew exactly how many days he had left to spend with his family, he would want to find a better use for their time together.

McCoy said he was planning to meet Joanna, so he was probably already in Georgia. Everyone around him seemed to be surrounded by families.

Now he truly understood Winona’s latest wish.

_ “Walk up and down outside the wall. _

_ Some hand in hand…” _

Scotty and Uhura were probably walking the Academy corridors now, discussing the future, both distant, like life after the mission, and nearest, like what reality show to watch today. Those two have been sticking together recently, even more than before, running around as if on someone’s errands – they were quite secretive about it, but Jim didn’t press them. Perhaps, he thought, they were just looking for an excuse to do something together. That was a desire he could relate to.

_ “And some gathered together in bands.” _

He wondered what Spock and Sarek were up to right now, how was T’Kari’s interrogation going. Something told him it wasn’t going to be easy.

Jim hoped Saavik was handling it okay – he could picture her clearly, standing next to Spock, unruly curls just above his knees. He still haven’t gotten a chance to meet her yet, even though he was constantly seeking excuses to do so.

_ “The bleeding hearts and artists _

_ Make their stand.” _

Jim hesitated with Regail’s holo in hands, unsure what to do with it.

_ “And when they've given you their all,” _

Jim opened the desk drawer to put the holo in and started, seeing Spock's pendant.

He looked around the office, as if expecting Spock to pop out with an explanation – but, of course, he was still alone.

He smiled wistfully, clenching his fist around the pendant, and laughed – the sound echoed in the empty room, weird even to his own ears.

_ “Some stagger and fall, after all it's not easy–” _

About to throw the pendant back into the drawer and slam it shut, he paused anyway, watching it spin on its long chain.

The gift from a man who showed all his immense love in this simple message.

Jim shook his head–

_ “Banging your heart against some mad bugger's wall.” _

–and put it around his neck.

TO BE CONCLUDED

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this is it, the last chapter.  
> Thank you for reading, and if you read till the very end - I love you. As you probably know, the last months were incredibly rough for me, that's why I didn't have the strength to finish this tiny chapter, I hope you didn't forget what happened in this story.  
> I know I said "to be concluded", because this was originally supposed to be a three-parter, but I honestly don't know if I will write the third part, even though I've already figured out the plot, and it's pretty cool imo. But compared to the time and effort I spent on writing and perfecting this, this fic just didn't get a response I was hoping for. Not the readers' fault, obviously.
> 
> So, anyway, about this chapter. First of all, you may notice how different and kinda songfic-y the ending looks? Well, that's because when I was planning this sequel, I wanted to write it in a screenplay format, but later decided against it - even though I've already written the first and last chapters. So I had this scene in mind, where the song plays, and it cuts to different characters, and had to translate it into regular text.  
> The title is a reference to the very first art I did for this fic (when it wasn't even written yet), [here](http://leifor.tumblr.com/post/164451444543/who-wants-some-self-indulgent-angst-commissions); as you can see, this is what the finale was originally supposed to be, but I changed it.  
> And, of course, it's a reference to Regail's words.  
> And finally, the ending song is the one that goes after The Trial: [Outside The Wall](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Rz0BE-gl_UI). Please listen to it for the full experience. I have so many reasons why I used it, but I'll probably bore you to death explaining them.
> 
> Well, thank you again. I wish I could give something to the people who commented, because you are the only reason I haven't dropped this fic. Maybe I'll write down the abridged version of part 3 and send it to you? Let me know if that's what you would want.
> 
> My tumblr is leifor.tumblr.com


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